Dancing with the Devil
by pharmacistwhodraws
Summary: Fresme, complete with fast-paced, dangerous, exciting drama. Emboldened by her success at the Festival of Fools, Esme continues her favorite pastime: torturing bad-tempered authority figures. Until she pushes her luck too far. Rated M for (consensual) sex scene
1. Chapter 1

"_See the finest girl in France_

_Make an entrance to entrance _

_Dance La Esmerelda! Dance!"_

Preceded by an explosion of confetti flung to the floor by her older brother, Esmerelda stepped out onto the stage at the back of the Boar's Head tavern. The patrons cheered and clapped, elbowing each other in hopes of a better view.

Esmerelda twirled across the stage, swooping down and standing up with the grace of a swan. Fully absorbed in her own movements, she barely even noticed the burly bouncer pulling back at the men attempting to climb onto the stage when she slipped off her outer dress and shimmied up the pole. Her toned core tightened as she easily flipped backward, holding on by her ankles.

In a much-practiced maneuver, Clopin tossed her a shimmering hula hoop. She grabbed it without letting go of the pole, bending back and curling through it. Long years of practice had enabled Esmerelda to contort herself into nearly any position, to the amazement of her onlookers.

Careful not to catch her body stocking on the metal pole (her audience would be very amused if she accidentally tore the stocking, but Esmerelda had no desire to be tasked with finding a replacement), she jumped off, performing handsprings across the stage. The cheering of the audience reached a fever pitch; shouts echoed through the cramped room, bouncers were attempting to restrain people and restore order.

A careful observation revealed to Esmerelda the cause of the commotion. Grinning at the sight of the familiar yellow hair, she cupped her hands to her face. "_Phoebus!_ Late again? Why, I was beginning to think you didn't care!"

"Babe!" he shouted back. "Got here—quick as—I could," he panted, trying to elbow his way through the crowd towards the stage. "Everybody, out of my way!" he shouted in frustration. "I'm the captain of the guard! Let me through!"

The crowd parted with bitter, envious stares. "Lucky _him_," a jealous voice muttered.

Phoebus stepped directly onto the stage (no bouncer bothered _him_), dropped to one knee, and pulled a bouquet of flowers from his backpack. "For you, dear. You are the flower of all girls."

Giggling, the dancer took the flowers. To her surprise, they had been only slightly smashed by the scuffle. As her hand closed around the stems, her hand recognized a familiar texture; she quickly lifted the flowers to her face for a closer look. "My _scarf?_"

Phoebus grinned. "I managed to snitch it from His Horribleness. Never thought there would be an upside to working for that old geezer, but turns out I was wrong." He laughed. "Although I'll never know _why_ you dropped your scarf in _his_ lap."

"For fun," she replied flippantly. "He needed some pizazz in his outfit. All of that boring old black!"

Phoebus winked. "Throw paint on him next time. He'll look like a unicorn got sick and puked up a rainbow!"

"Hmm. Pulling a prank of _that_ level on the Minister of Justice would take _teamwork_," Esmerelda said with feigned contemplation. "I might need to enlist the help of someone _brave_ and _clever_…like you!" Untying the scarf from around the flowers, she flung it around the captain's neck and yanked him in for a kiss. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol, as usual.

Phoebus had a front row seat for the remainder of the performance. Clopin kept trying to catch Esmerelda's eye, but she pointedly ignored him. They had had this conversation a million times. Yes, she _knew_ that he didn't like Phoebus. Yes, she _knew_ that Phoebus was supposed to be turning her in to his boss, and that was the entire reason that she wanted him to be romantically attracted to her. Let him decide to be the knight in shining armor who defied his horrid old boss and rescued his lady love!

Phoebus insisted on escorting Esmerelda to the door after her performance had finished. Pulling her dress back on over the stocking, she walked to the door on his arm. He smelled even more powerfully of alcohol now, and his footing seemed less than steady.

"Phoebus," she scolded teasingly, "you shouldn't drink so much."

"Aw, babe, gimme a break," he drawled. "I work for the worst employer in France! I gotta do something to deal with the strain!"

"It's that bad, huh?" she asked sympathetically. They were outside now.

"Oh, he's _awful_. 'Don't question my authority, Phoebus. The fact that you could think I might be wrong proves that you are very stupid, Phoebus.'" The blonde boy laughed, then continued to impersonate his boss. "'Phoebus, tell me something. Is it unfair of a man to ask his employee to get his brain out of the clouds when the employee does not even have a brain?'"

Esmerelda didn't respond immediately. "Babe?" he prodded. "Wassup?"

"Phoebus." A smile floated over her features. "Turn around."

Not all heroes wore capes; some of them wore flowing black robes.

At least, that was how Minister Claude Frollo saw himself. Frollo had been _elated_ at his inauguration as Minister of Justice. (Yes, contrary to the belief of the stupid peasant folk, Frollo _was_ capable of experiencing happiness, and occasionally said happiness was not a result of him sending someone to the gallows.) He dove into his responsibilities with a fierce eagerness, ready to be the knight in shining armor who righted wrongs and served to the guilty their just desserts.

What he had not expected was that his career would involve settling one stupid peasant quarrel after another. He had spent the entire afternoon pretending to care about two brothers squabbling over the terms of their deceased father's last will and testament. To make matters worse, _both_ of the brothers had hired the most interruptive of lawyers. If Frollo heard the words "OBJECTION, YOUR HONOR!" just _one_ more damn time, somebody was getting their teeth knocked out with a gavel.

Frollo desperately needed to clear his head. He dug his feet into the stirrups as he rode through the streets, the evening air cool and pleasant against his face. Forget the tiring day, forget everything, just relax and enjoy riding the horse.

Mentally exhausted, the minister let Snowball more or less lead the way. The horseshoes beat out a soothing rhythm on the paved streets of Paris. Frollo relaxed as he listened.

The minister's irritation suddenly returned when Snowball decided to walk past the Boar's Head. Immediately pulling back the reins, Frollo glared at the blonde boy who was performing an outlandish impersonation of his boss. And that—that _girl_ was with him!

"_Sancta Maria Mater Dei!_" The judge swore under his breath, angrily clenching the reins like a drowning man gripping a liferope. If Frollo had told that blonde idiot once, he'd told him a thousand times: _stop flirting with that girl!_ La Esmerelda was _nothing_ but trouble. Phoebus was too dumb to realize that, but the Minister of Justice was not so stupid.

Gypsies were a sneaky bunch; they'd stick a knife between your ribs sooner than look at you. Not that Frollo was particularly concerned about the captain's safety, but he _was_ concerned about any information that the temptress could be wheedling out of Phoebus. Perhaps she was even trying to make Phoebus turn on his boss!

At the girl's prompting, Phoebus turned around, and his blue eyes flew wide open. "Erm…uh…SIR!" Phoebus saluted hastily, almost knocking himself in the head.

"Come closer, Phoebus." Bewildered, the captain obeyed.

Had Phoebus been sober, he might have been quick enough to duck the slender hand that struck him across the face. Frollo pulled the back of his hand deliberately across the captain, jeweled rings plowing bloody furrows across the man's face.

"Ow," Phoebus said dully.

"Give me a cloth," the judge requested offhandedly, surveying the blood that dripped from his hand.

"Huh?" Phoebus blinked.

"I _said_, give me a cloth, you idiot." Frollo grabbed Phoebus' shirt and ripped out a sizeable chunk of fabric on which to wipe his hand. Phoebus, putting two and two together for once in his life, ripped off another piece of shirt to wipe his face.

One of the barmaids had stepped out to witness the commotion. "Oh, Captain Phoebus, your chest looks sooooooooooo _muscular_," she drooled, staring at the sizeable hole in his shirt. "Oh, here, let me help you with those cuts on your face!"

Esmerelda pulled a face at an oblivious Phoebus, who allowed himself to be escorted away by the barmaid. The gypsy did not follow. Perhaps she was smarter than Frollo gave her credit for.

Yet Esmerelda _definitely_ had more guts than common sense, as her next actions proved. Hands on her hips, the girl spun around to face him. "So, did the Judge of Paris actually miss my performance today? For shame!"

Inwardly, Frollo grinned evilly. The foolish girl had stepped forward and offered herself as a scapegoat for the minister to take out his frustration upon. "I had no intention of upsetting you, my dear," he replied coolly, keeping his tone aloof. "Though I must say I'm flattered that you value my admiration so highly."

The mock anger on Esmerelda's face turned to genuine anger at his words, which pleased him greatly. Only an idiot would engage in verbal swordplay with Judge Claude Frollo. He wished to rouse her anger further. "Seeing as this troubles you so greatly, I could easily arrange a…_private_ performance."

Esmerelda quickly stiffened her face to hide her shock and fear, but she was not so quick that Frollo could not see her reaction. He sat back a little straighter in the saddle, relishing his triumph over Mademoiselle Sassy Mouth.

The girl forced a cheery smile. "Then it's a date, Frollo! I will be at the palace to see you this evening." She smiled boldly with a deliberate small coyness, curtsied and began taking steps backward.

Bold words for a foreigner, but the minister was not unduly surprised. Cornered animals generally tried to bite. "I look forward to it," he replied calmly, swinging the horse around to ride back to the Palace of Justice.

Frollo allowed himself to indulge in an evil grin. At last, he had gotten revenge on that impudent witch. There was no escape for her. If she chickened out and never showed up, it would mean that she admitted that she feared him, and it would give Frollo an uncomfortable reality to rub in her face should she attempt to defy him.

And if she actually came…

Frollo's grin deepened. Why, it was his _duty_ to instruct people how to behave, and when they so boldly came to his door and asked for lessons…

The minister gloated during the entire ride back to the palace. _Now, gypsy, it's your turn. If you choose to come to the palace tonight, I win. If you chose NOT to come to the palace tonight, I win._ He settled down more comfortably in the saddle, a smug grin spreading over his thin face. _Checkmate._


	2. Chapter 2

****Author's note – the following chapter is heavily based off of an abandoned fanfic I found online. The story was so good that I thought it deserved to be finished **** credit to that author even though he/she is no longer active ****

Esmeralda: Esmeralda's retreating steps came to a halt when she foolishly looked up, catching the judge's penetrating gaze on her. She had hoped to be the one to exit first after their awkward conversation while still appearing brave, but it was her mistake that she looked back at him. That icy stare of his had the power to leave her feeling terribly inadequate. She stood still, not realizing she had not sucked in a breath until the clicking of the horse's hooves grew faint.

Her bare shoulders sagged when at last she allowed herself to move. Lifting her emerald eyes she caught sight of a few passerbys, some were even gypsies. Their expressions showed both confusion and a hint of betrayal as to why she sought out audience with their most powerful enemy. If there was a rock big enough she would have crawled under it! Pushing herself to break into a run, she flew through the streets wildly, running towards the outskirts of Paris to the cemetery. As she ran she could still see visions of Frollo's eyes on her, they gleamed unnaturally with a clear and obviously undisguised hunger. It made her run faster. She began to toy with the 'what if' scenarios. If she does not return to the palace tonight, what will happen? Would he just forget the whole thing, not putting much thought in it anyway? Chide her whenever next he saw her?

Esmerelda finally flung herself down on her cot and lay gasping for breath, struggling to even comprehend the horrible mistake she had just made. Maybe she should hunker down in her wagon for the rest of the night…no, that was exactly what he wanted, her to cower in fear of him. Forget her bold mockery at the Festival of Fools that all of Paris had witnessed; she would be branded a braggart and a coward who made fun of people until she got caught…at which point she fled like a terrified rabbit.

Hiding was not an option; therefore, the only remaining choice was to show up. Prove to him that she wasn't afraid of him…no, that was exactly what he wanted, her to walk right into his iron claws! How could she possibly be so stupid? Esmerelda knew she was a wanted woman; she was an illegal gypsy immigrant who knew the workings of other illegal gypsy immigrants and might be persuaded by some vile means of torture to tattle on her compatriots.

_This is the most dangerous decision I have made in my life, but let the record show that I was not afraid to face the most horrifying man in Paris._ Practically mechanically with a vacant expression, the zingara moved about her wagon down in the Court of Miracles. She pulled out a red dress to wear from a large trunk. The thought crossed her mind to inform her people, plan their own trap, a counter attack when Frollo's guard was lowered by her own sensual dance. Her eyes closed as she stood before the mirror, the red dress draped perfectly to her body's every curve. Slowly she looked back at her reflection, envisioning Frollo's gaze on her. The thought made her ill. Esmerelda was no stranger to flirting her way out of trouble—it was the main reason that the law enforcement hadn't shipped her out of France yet—but weak-minded minions were one thing and the head honcho was another.

Despite her well-placed trepidation, Esmerelda realized the enormity of the opportunity she'd been given. Get inside the palace of justice, speak with the minister, find out what on earth went on in his incomprehensible brain. Who knew what all information she could gather to give back to Clopin? Of course, Clopin would be too protective of his little sister to allow her to do this. She needed to slip back out, back up to the ground level without being seen. If anyone, saw her dressed up like this, especially anyone who had overheard the conversation outside of the Boar's Head, they would be highly suspicious. Grabbing her cloak, Esmeralda quickly exited her wagon, running for the tunnels when the area appeared deserted. Her bare feet carried her through the tunnels and up to the cemetery grounds. There she saw the sun disappearing, the night was taking over. Her heart sank a little more as she moved in the direction of the city, shadows now forming as the sun diminished.

So very careful to avoid catching the eye of fellow gypsies in the streets, Esmeralda padded her way to the palace. She felt incredibly foolish for not having a better plan, for not even telling anyone she

was here. Just walk right in to this elaborate prison Frollo had for her. A shiver snared her once again, making her start to turn around when two guards were at her side. Too late! "The minister has been

expecting you, gypsy. This way." They both looked so smug, she should kick them and run, but instead she just followed silently. She was escorted in through a hallway and onward to a vastly large room. The doors swung open where she was deposited inside. She was told to wait there, her host would be in momentarily. They deliberately slammed the doors shut behind her, it echoed loudly. Now she was alone, waiting for the 'beast' of the castle to emerge…

Frollo: Frollo sat in his study, flipping through the pages of an old Latin bible. He muttered unto himself, lost in the ancient scriptures, when a knock on the door interrupted his affair. He responded in a vexed tone, startled by the sudden noise. "What is it," the judge spat.

A palace guard warily replied, too nervous to open the door. "Sir, we've escorted the gypsy girl, as you ordered." He dashed away as quickly as he came.

Frollo rose from his seat. A crass smile breached his sunken face. "She actually came," he thought, shaking his head in pleasant disbelief. The audacity, the arrogance the emerald enchantress possessed to heed the demands of her enemy. An incautious girl, but brave, to freely entangle herself in the strings of such a grievous fate. However, that notion only caused Frollo to worry. His mind toyed with this suspicious circumstance. She may have come alone, but not without some sort of protection or plot. Esmeralda was a gypsy after all, and Frollo knew better then to underestimate such slippery creatures. Incidentally, with every Romani in the city after his head, the minister had acquired a few tricks of his own for the sake of protection. His hand pressed to his waist, to reassure himself that his concealed carry was still safely buckled to his belt. The knife, unnoticeable under his flowing robes, had claimed the life of more than one fool with delusions of heroism. Esmerelda may think herself clever, but the judge held one resource she lacked: a lifetime of experience.

The Palace of Justice carried the haunting trait of abysmal atrophy. Once trapped inside, death was the only appropriate escape, though anything would do to avoid the malignant shadows. The stoned keep would suffocate the girl if left unsupervised too long. Therefore, Claude stripped himself of his judicial attire and hastily exited his chamber, tearing through the darkness with wicked intentions.

What should he do? The torture chamber felt too generic and unbefitting for such a notorious gypsy. No, he had much more appropriate plans for this siren. The minister's chest tightened. His nostrils flared as a passing thought flittered in his mind. Helpless to contain his amusement, he grinned almost violently. This poor, foolish girl was accustomed to using her good looks to manipulate guards and convince men to give her money. The remedy to her problem was straightforward enough. Frollo was a pure man, dutiful, and forgiven of any sin. His faith in God would guide him through any tantalizing tricks she fabricated, and it was his mission to save lost souls from damnation. He would observe her dance this evening, for his invitation was genuine, but any hint of devil-work would prove dismal for the gypsy girl. He only hoped her immoral nature would surface quickly; his scheme required a full evening.

Reaching the end of his trek, Frollo paused before wooden entryway. He extended his arm then ripped it back to his side, needing a moment to regain his usual demeanor. Swallowing the tension jammed in his throat, Frollo gripped the icy handle, flinging the door open as if to summon a gale. He heard faint gasp as he entered.

"Good evening, Esmeralda."

Esmeralda: Minutes ticked endlessly by. Her breathing echoed off these godawful vaulted ceilings, it was nerve-racking! Padding around the room, keeping an eye out for any kind of exit if necessary, but there was none. Any windows were very high up and with bars across them. The judge chose this room purposely. She was sealed in a cage and only he held the key. To what, her death or salvation? The question of 'why she was here' kept pounding her head repeatedly, it gave her a small headache.

Rubbing the base of her neck where the most tension was, Esmeralda glared at the plush furnishings. Her people could eat for weeks by selling some of this gaudy junk! Why was she here? The memory of those eyes of his on her, that voice demanding lowly, it made her hug her arms around herself, disgusted with this revealing red dress she wore. She felt too vulnerable, she wanted to keep the cloak on, but knew he would want to see everything she was offering. One thought did make her smile, by her coming here for him he would be distracted and not out killing her race. Yet.

Esmeralda drifted down the aisle to look closely at the large cross. It was nothing like the warmth she felt in Notre Dame. Frollo's so-called religion was nothing but cold and judgmental. The door behind her was opened with a roughness, it caused a rippling vibration and she gasped out. That low voice once more addressed her, she tugged on the cloak's material to close it tighter around herself. She nodded to him, unable to bite back a little, "Is it? I suppose for you it is, oui?" She walked back up the aisle, stopping midway. He looked reserved from what she could see at this distance-of course he would, he held her fate in his hands.

Frollo: Her voice whispered courage, but her eyes shouted lies. Yet, the girl's snide demeanor never

failed to amuse. Phoebus' leniency with her was quite obvious; after the girl received her instructions on how to properly respect authority, the captain of the guard was next on the list of people in dire need of correction.

"That sharp tongue of yours is most unbecoming. I did not invite you for idle conversation," Frollo responded, sounding almost disappointed, which he was. His sight shifted up and down, scanning over her petite form. He curiously cocked his head. "You're not going to perform in that old rag, are you?" he questioned rhetorically, closing the gap between them.

His imposing figure approached with predatory intent. Like a lion with a cornered lamb, his solid gaze held her, instilling her with fear until the time came to pounce. He'd noticed her defensive posture. Whatever she didn't want him to view was hidden underneath that cloak, and Frollo was determined to unveil exactly what that was. As succulent as what lie beneath could be, he still had a duty to his life. One cut-throat gypsy was all it took to end the minister's reign.

Frollo was surprised by how still she was. Surely the girl couldn't be that frightened, but open opportunity was not a luxury the judge could waste. There were no guards, no peering commoners, and one perplexed gypsy only an arm's length away. He felt it too shameful, too unbecoming, but his dark heart coaxed him otherwise. A million thoughts raced through his head, but all were quieted by the sensation of skin beneath his fingertips. Cupping her chin, was it really so wrong? He only wished to look upon those emerald eyes as he spoke; a wicked notion cloaked by an innocent endeavor.

"Remove that hideous rag, gypsy, and be quick about it!" His tone was firm and cold. "You cannot shield your plots in a house of God. He sees all…as do I."

Esmeralda: Not one for idle chit-chat, eh, Frollo? Did this mean he basically revealed his true

intention for her presence here? The way he stared at her left her unnerved, as though he was examining her closely. She snickered a little at the insult of her cloak. It almost made her want to reveal it once belonged to some snobby noble woman. One of her gypsy clansmen had lifted it off a clothes' line years ago to give to her as a gift. There was more than one and of the same color and style that hung there, the owner would hardly miss it, but mentioning it was stolen would not be good to bring up, even if she was not the thief. It just made her smile he would refer to it now as just some rag. That smile faded quickly as his shadow fell over her, creeping closer to her.

Her fingers fiddled in a nervous gesture with the edges of the cloak, not even realizing what she was doing. She sucked in a sharp breath when his cold fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. There was that last shred of defiance in her that wanted to scream out, tell him if he so badly wanted the cloak off he could remove it himself. That would turn things so ugly that she dared not utter those words. A quick reminder filled her head, this was her doing to even approach him and bring up the missed performance. Esmeralda jerked back her head from his hand, nodding to him in a curt fashion. "Right, then, I suppose we should get on with this evening."

Her fingers tugged at the drawstrings, her emerald eyes stared back at him to see how he reacted as she pushed back the fabric. The indigo material slid off her bare shoulders, down the contours of the red dress to pool at her feet. Standing now in front of the judge in just the red dress that was similar to the one she wore for the festival. No pink in it, all red with faux gold trim for the bodice lacing in the front. She kept her head up high and mustered a small twirl. Her stomach fluttered a little in queasiness feeling the heat of his eyes on her. Just give a small dance, like the one in the courtyard earlier today so this evening can end and she can be on her way. When her eyes looked back at his, she knew that idea would not be so simple. He probably was already hatching an idea of his own.

Kicking up her cloak with a bare foot, Esmeralda draped it on a nearby chair and turned back to look at Frollo over her shoulder. "Are you going to sit as I dance for you or do you want to stand there?"

Frollo: Of all the outfits, she had to wear _that_. She was quite a sight, dressed in an array of gold and

scarlet fabrics. He'd expected the gypsy in her normal attire, not some flashy garb. Never failed to surprise, that impudent trouble-causing slut.

At least her compliance was welcomed. He did not wish to tarnish such a rare flower before her time. The night was young, and opportunity would arise to strip the girl's defiance. Why not partake in what she offered? He'd already tread so far into his ruse, and there was no need to rush the endeavor. The stifling palace walls were sure to expose her true nature, and Frollo knew exactly how to tame the wild zingara. Yet, he still felt sickly, gawking perversely at her supple form. Sancta Maria Mater Dei, the demon's power was strong, forcing him to behave in such an improper manner. Maria would forgive, or provide the strength to strike this devil, but was it still a sin if he enjoyed her plight?

As the robe drifted to the floor, Frollo tugged at his collar. He felt a bit heated by her appearance, but concealed his nervousness with a stoic disposition. Each and every curve was silhouetted by her outfit. He'd never viewed such exotic beauty, but only Hell could produce such a fiery, tantalizing creature. Temptation fell heavy on his heart, as his eyes traced her bare skin. He mashed his teeth together, swallowing a retort when she teased him with a twirl. Fervid flames kindled within him, and her tart remark only aroused his frustration. Though, even with all her pleasant distractions, he did not falter. Frollo's mind was not weak; he had resisted the foolish attempts of many women who attempted to flirt their way out of well-deserved punishment.

Without a word the minister walked across the room, sitting in the chair adjacent to her robe. Frollo crossed his legs and propped his head atop his knuckles. His eyes glanced over her once more, both to assert his position, and demean her. He flicked his wrist in a circular fashion, instructing the gypsy to get on with her disgusting display. His command fell terse, irritated by her tone, but he would soon correct her. "Dance…"

Esmeralda: No sound came from the judge once her question was asked. She thought of asking again, but knew better to not make that mistake. From the view at him over her shoulder told her his mind was elsewhere, somewhere that it was clear she too had been taken with him. And what was it he was imagining? She knew all too well, remembering how he was in the cathedral towards her. It made her knees buckle a little, her inside voice was screaming at her at how this was a terrible idea. So what if he missed her performance earlier, this is absurd! That pious act he's playing is just that, an act! He would bed her so quickly if given the chance and here she was, giving him the opportunity to pluck.

Her people, Clopin especially, would be so disappointed in her. They are safe for now, that should mean something, that should make her feel better. With another glance at Frollo, she felt like a small animal that lay lame in front of a lion's cave. He intended to make a meal out of her, she knew that hungry look all too well. Despite the fact that she earned a living as a pole dancer, Esmerelda was an independent woman with no desire to become yet another notch in some man's belt. It was not an easy task, but she was always able to avoid the clutches of determined men. None have been more determined to control her mentally, emotionally and most of all physically than Judge Claude Frollo. Despite how he was able to cause such deep-set fear into anyone who was foolish enough to come in close contact with him, there was still a curiosity about him that forever gnawed at her. She knew it was the reason why she purposely came here tonight. Why would a man like Claude Frollo, who appeared to have the blackest heart, no soul, kill without any mercy and yet be devout to God? And for a man who fiercely claimed to be above what mortal man feels, why did he fancy her? Unless she read him wrong, ever since the festival it seemed an unhealthy obsession was brewing, but again, why? Didn't he hate her race?

One word was uttered off those thin lips, one word that normally would make her smile. How cold and commanding it rolled out, it made her not make a sound of protest. Esmeralda had no music, no tambourine, not even her pole. (The judge was much too proper to keep one of _those_ in his home.) She knew Frollo would not want any excuses, no delays and so, she danced. Her voice lightly hummed a simple Romani song in time to her steps. Twirling her dress with each step, her body swayed in rhythm. She could feel the minister's eyes scorching her, memorizing every curve, picturing her completely naked. Esmerelda wanted to vomit.

She closed her eyes; if she couldn't see the circling hawk waiting to snatch her, perhaps she could convince herself that he wasn't there. Oddly it was one of her more relaxed dances she had ever done. Her mind allowed her to envision she was dancing out in a vast meadow. The earth below her feet, the wind blowing through her raven hair, tickling her hands and arms as they stretched upward to the sky. A smile graced her red lips, eyes remained closed. As long as she didn't let her mind realize how close she was to being snared, her dance was carefree. How long could she avoid the inevitable, how long could she keep dancing before her freedom was snatched from her?

Frollo: Unbound by mortal concern, Frollo's eyes sliced into the girl's performance, memorizing every motion with feral potency. Her sweet voice drummed in his ears, and his breath wavered to a shallow, uneven pace. Anticipation overwhelmed him, yet it was not an unpleasant sentiment. Viral, twisted corruption disguised by flashes of serenity, that was the gypsy's true nature. Only a demon could perform such suggestive gestures and appear so calm in the wake of calamity. He felt tense and unnerved, watching her dance. Wild and violent became his thoughts while he observed her. He muttered a small prayer, unwilling to fall prey to her deceit, but he still sensed a twinge of primal desire.

It was then she shut her eyes; why, he could not perceive. Was this some sort of trick, or was she that naive to lower her guard before the Minister of Justice? A spark surged, igniting an idea. The chance to

strike was upon him; no longer could he wait. Swiftly, and without a sound, the judge rose from his seat. She was foolishly turned away, entranced within her own spell, when his hands clamped her wrists. He

felt her jolt and struggle, but held her firm, pulling her petite body against him. He buried his face in her ebony tendrils. Her scent drove him mad. She struggled further, but her warmth only fueled his perversions. He grit his teeth, grinning fiercely at her desperation. This was it, his moment of triumph over the notorious she-witch. Playful were his words as they rolled off his lips.

"This is your own undoing, you understand." His hand slipped down her waist, the other covered her mouth. "No one will hear you scream. No one will believe a foreign-born exotic dancer like yourself."

A caged songbird may sing, but is still stripped the ability of flight. Her freedom, the girl's most cherished treasure, was now claimed by the most powerful man in Paris. She fought to escape the nightmare Frollo snatched her into. Her futile efforts proved amusing. His control was absolute.

He wished to tease her, to express her downfall. The savage words scratched her ears. His tone condescending and elated. "You dare challenge my faith and taunt my virtue?" he smiled, tightening

his grip and pulling her closer. "I should have had your head ages ago, but, unlike those weary peasants say, I am not unkind. You believe your misguided freedom to be genuine, my dear? I own this city. Every

district, every citizen. I control your fate, Esmeralda. I always have," his corrosive breath burned into her. "I allowed you to run free, yet here you are. Did you truly believe you could derogate my authority

without consequence?"

His lips tread lightly down her neck, planting a dark kiss upon her skin. So foolish of her to think she could charm her way out of this. He would punish her well for toying with him.

"I am a holy man. No matter how I tame your wild spirit, I'll be forgiven," he spoke, ripping her around to face him. "And so, gypsy, I give you a choice. Either you take off that repulsive dress, or I'll remove it for you."

Esmeralda: Scarlet red swirled around her, her arms stretched upward. She could feel the heat of danger, knew she was already in far too deep, but she danced anyway. The meadow she envisioned herself in, the last shred of freedom, grew instantly dark with storm clouds rolling in to snatch her off her feet. The icy grip on her wrist and being yanked against the folds of velvet had Esmeralda yelp out. No, she was not surprised by this and yet still she gasped out with her emerald eyes wild with fear. Frollo brought her back against his chest; she could feel _exactly_ how he felt about her dance, though she knew he would insist otherwise. She struggled and bucked like a wild filly being handled under a cruel master. It did nothing but have him grip her harder. His nose was thrust into her hair, it was that lecherous scene of his in the cathedral all over again. She started to protest to that when she felt his hand slide over her mouth. Oh. God. No.

The heat of his breath was scorching next to her ear, his voice was low and deadly. At the feel of his lips on her neck her body squirmed and arched. She heard him groan, and realized her struggles were actually turning him on more. He was just like every other man she had encountered, Frollo only chose to hide behind religion to cleanse his dirty soul. It sickened her to hear him say he believes he'll be forgiven for what he plans to do with her. What the hell kind of God does he pray to who would allow this to happen? His kiss on her neck burned her skin-yet also sent a strange feeling through her too. She breathed out heavily into his hand. Feelings were mixed in obvious fear and also something dark and foreign.

She was spun around to face him, her mouth free again, but he gripped her shoulders. The choice he placed upon her could not be any more direct. No matter what, he wanted her stripped down naked, right here, in a room that claimed to be so holy. She assumed that he intended to beat her, or similar, but was fully aware that her naked body on the floor would only inflame the animal within him. With a cry out, she pulled herself back out of his hands, her emerald eyes blazing.

"It could be said that I was naive to come here, but the arrangement was that I come to just dance. Curiosity I admit made me come. To see if you are a man of your word as you claim to be, but you are no different than other men who think only with their genitals. You are not the first to try and bed me because they could not control themselves, but yet I am still virtuous."

"Bed _you_?" His hand flew to his waist, reaching no doubt for a weapon. "Do I look hungry enough to you to _want_ an apple that half the town has taken bites of?"

Esmeralda met his eyes in a challenging glare, refusing to cower at his scathing words. "Your assumptions are _wrong_ about me, Frollo. There would be some nights I would starve instead of take up the offer of some strange man's warm bed. I dance to feed myself, my people, but nothing more than that." She stepped back just a little. The room was vastly large, but the only door to escape was locked and the windows were too high. What would she do, run laps, place herself between furniture to fend him off? She breathed out shakily, feeling her stomach grow queasy, but she did not lower her eyes from him.

"Do you think because you own this entire city that you can also claim me as well, do with me as you see fit, like those other men have tried before?" Her feet stepped back a little more. "Or, prove you are righteous as you say and bid me a fond farewell?" Her entire body was shivering, ready to bolt into a sprint around this room if he tried to reach out at her. This was going to be one of the longest nights of her life.

Frollo: Frollo stumbled back when she snatched herself free, her bright eyes pressing into his soul. He

was surprised the gypsy had this much fight within her, but cornered animals did tend to go down biting. His frustration seethed and festered, boiling over into an untamed fury. She was the one offering

herself and coaxing the devil to feed off his piety. How dare she? How dare she accuse the honorable Judge Claude Frollo of such slander?

"You expect me to believe such false atrocities? I know your kind better than to assume you'd be any different! You people aren't worth the dirt they sleep in, and your words worth even less!" he sibilated, enraged by her defiance.

This was the truth that lie beneath. A man far beyond the reach of sanity, and damned by his own corruption. Right and wrong held no meaning; his ideas of virtue, duty, and honor were all self-proclaimed. Yet, even facing the worst of predicaments—genocide, unjust torture, failed trials of faith—Frollo still believed he was pure and his actions forgiven. She'd catechized him and challenged his integrity, which was only fabricated to protect himself. The barriers he constructed within prevented his perversions from consuming him, but Esmeralda's words tore through his defenses, a grave mistake on her part. Before her now stood a broken creature ready to leap into his own madness and drag the gypsy girl along with him.

His breath billowed forth. A coarse message filtered through.

"I do not only command your compliance, I expect it. You choose to make my evening far more difficult than need be," Frollo threatened, advancing towards her. "You're in no position to question my faith, or

spout lies of your 'virtue.' Those born of sin are unclean from the start," he paused, eyes gleaming, and set to pounce.

"My orders were clear."

He reached out, attempting to snatch the girl back into his grasp. Her agility proved a challenge, but the minister's resolve was just as fit. She'd made her way to the door, but the handle did not cater to her

whims. He pursued, tearing through an array of gaudy obstacles, intent on capturing her.

"Running won't help you!" he shouted, closing in once again. Gracefully, she evaded him, darting to the other side of the chapel, but fell a second too late. Frollo's nails bit into her shoulder, tearing her back

into his robes. His hand clamped her wrist, she bucked and flailed, spitting curses, and fighting for her freedom. Her vigorous thrashing yielded a cautious swing, one filled with contempt.

A sudden, sharp, solid, strike stung the minister's cheek. The blow was swift and true. She'd slapped him, a dangerous move conceived from desperation. He did not bow to the pain, but instead sat in a stupor, stunned by her bold action. For a moment, he thought to strike her, but held his ground. The room quieted and Frollo's wrath dissipated. His mind unclouded, but his intentions remained wicked.

Moonlight at his back, he stood gallant and strong, dauntless gray eyes surveying his quarry. His tone weighed different than before: less than perplexed, but more than melancholy. He released a sigh, and loosened his grip, though not enough to allow reprieve. A rare sight to behold, a side unseen by many, one he concealed from the world. There was a sudden sadness, even a hint of regret or disarray. A curious creature this minister was, bent and broken by her denial.

"Tell me, girl," he began; despondency filled his voice. "You say curiosity brought you to my keep. You're not foolhardy. Stepping inside my palace only spells demise for your kind, but your willingness exceeds

your blatant disregard for your own safety. Why then? What peculiar notion of me could have persuaded you to enter this web? What is it you desire?"

Esmeralda: It was like staring into a volcano that was about to burst apart, burning her with its deadly blast. With each step she took back, Frollo advanced right on her. The insults on her people and against her virginity did not surprise her. "Of _course_ you would deny anything I say. In your mind only you are pure, and I'm nothing but some demon spawned from hell sent to destroy you. Right? You seriously believe that garbage?"

Esmeralda shook her head, her teeth clenched with annoyance at his insults, but as he kept advancing on her there was also still fear. His hands reached out at her, making her stumble back and break into a full run. She was caged in; there was nowhere really to hide. Furniture was knocked aside, loudly crashing behind her as Frollo was completely unhinged, chasing after her. He literally sounded like an animal, some wild beast right on her heel. Esmeralda thought her heart would pound out of her chest as she tore through the room, her eyes watering, even making the mistake at going to the door. It was locked still, that hadn't changed, but her mind was in such a desperate frenzy to put any kind of distance between herself and Frollo.

His fingers clawed into her bare shoulder just as she jumped away from the door. The pain and suddenness made her shriek out and sprawl to the floor. She was yanked up right away and pulled into his suffocating embrace. Any kind of thoughts she had before of trying to reason with him were instantly severed, fear and anger embedded into her chest as she struggled and fought him. Her hand flew up on its own accord in defense and connected with his jaw, it even made a cracking sound when

she cried out at him. "NOOO!" It deafened everything in the room. Frollo lessened his grip on her to where she could wiggle free if she wanted to, she even started to until she looked up into his eyes. What had she done? She actually struck Frollo, the most fearsome man of all of Paris and her hand had cracked his face hard. She should get out of his grip while she had the chance, but she kept staring into his face and it was as if something broke inside him. A sight never seen before. Was it a trick or was this real? Only their breathing was heard, hers a little more shaky. No more thunderous voice of his raining on her.

There was strange calmness to Frollo's voice when he finally did speak, but it didn't sound like he was going to attack at a moment's notice either. Sadness? Esmeralda blinked in confusion at this. What is

happening here? Her hand stayed limply in his hand, his grip was so loose now. Emphasis on the 'why' was between them. "I…I don't really know exactly. I am trying to make sense of it myself. You are the

most feared man in the city, only someone with half a brain would enter here on their own. Still, I came because…" Esmeralda quieted, looked down at their hands. His was pale and refined, almost passable for a normal human being. When relaxed, it was hard to believe just moments ago they were curled and ugly on her person.

"I came to see if there was at all a man behind this ruthless monster everyone says you are." This was going to get her killed. One swift move, he'd yank her forward again and devour her without any mercy. She could feel her knees getting shaky from standing, the over exertion and fear was weighing on her. Wanting to pull back and sit but at the same time she now felt she couldn't move, shouldn't move. Wouldn't dare lower her guard just yet.

"Why do you hate me? God taught us to love our fellow man, but why do you have so much hate in your heart?" Her breathing was forced to be calm, her heart rate even returned to a normal thump. Esmeralda held her head high, looking straight at Frollo, this broken monster that stood only an arm's length away

Frollo: "Monster," he thought. There was no truer description. Whether citizen or traveler, politician or peasant, Frollo's wrath consumed all he felt were in defiance. This mangled husk of a man, hated by all, became the antagonist of children's tales, and the whispers that stirred nightmares. Over the years, he'd altered into a bloodthirsty fiend—a ravenous wolf among sheep, drunk with a jaunty madness, and void of human compassion. Yet, the question lay untouched of _how_ he became such a creature.

The wars claimed countless combatant men braver then Frollo could ever be. The judge learned to survive in this cold, harsh world not only with brawn, but cunning, intelligence, and opportunity. His road was long, winding, and paved with brutality. By the time he'd snatched his seat as Minister of Justice, the path was beaten straight and narrow, with only an all-consuming darkness at its end. He'd become blinded, corrupt, clouded, confused, and fallen prey to the essence of power. No longer a

man, but an empty vessel that quickly filled with self-loathing.

He clawed his way up the ranks, raised an army, barricaded himself within the palace walls, and let twenty years slip by in what was now a fleeting moment drifting away on the wind. His struggle remained futile, however, for his mortality always circled overhead. Like a vulture the looming notion hovered, patiently waiting for his reign to end, and ready to strip his memory from the world. Therefore, it was his immortal soul Frollo soon coddled, constantly justifying as to why he'd sit with a chorus of angles. In the beginning, his faith was true, but those days sank into the horizon long ago. Like most men, Frollo was a fickle creature, boasting false claims that only served the purpose of granting him sleep through the night.

Esmeralda's words resonated within him, weighing heavy on his heart. She was too young to know how hatred begins, how it consumes all in its wake, and how impossible it is to subdue. It fills every muscle, every vein, every thought, and strikes even the most noble-hearted individuals. Claude's mind hazed with images of smoke and fire. His heart swelled with longing and loss. He'd repressed those horrid memories, the ones that sparked his wrath those many years ago. Faces came to him, all charred and ugly, lost and forgotten in time. Beyond that lie the source, the chapter where it all began. Pages written long ago, but the ink never dried.

A familiar warmth rested in her eyes. Nothing spawned from the fires of Hell could host such a tender quality. He felt oddly conflicted, unsure of what was the proper response. His concrete ideals of right and wrong quickly faded to gray. Rationality downed beneath waves of instinct. It was only a moment of weakness, but lengthy enough to conceive a plot.

Pulling her into an awkward embrace, his lips found hers—an opportunity sealed in ambition. Frollo's eyes shut tight, suffocating any form of regret. He didn't know how she'd react. Quite frankly, he didn't care. Even if it was the fires of Hell leading him astray, for the first time in twenty years, a light shined on his path.

Esmeralda: With her breathing now relaxed, emerald eyes stared up to blackness. A dark abyss. Frollo

had never before looked more pitiful than he was now. He said nothing, his eyes were distant, forlorn, it made her a tad uneasy. In the back of her mind she wondered if it was just a trick, that he was waiting for another opportunity to lunge at her again, chase her around and throw things. Her hand reached to touch her shoulder, feeling for any blood he may have drawn in his frenzy. It only stung when she touched it from how he grabbed her, but no blood.

More silence and still no response from him. What was he thinking; what plans were forming inside that twisted mind of his? On a faint shaky breath she started to say something, asking him about his thoughts when suddenly his arms moved and snatched her again. It was not painful, only taking her by surprise. She was pulled close against him and then… she gasped, eyes widened like saucers when his lips closed over hers. A whimper from her became muffled.

She struggled just a little, mainly from shock, but did not pull away. His lips were soft and heated, his arms kept her in place. In mid kiss she managed to bring her hands up to cup his cheek, staring up at him in wild confusion. His eyes betrayed his emotions; he was so broken, seeking her out as a form of lifeline. This powerful man who never before showed any weakness was now just a man, a lonely broken man in front of her.

A very strange feeling hit her the more she looked at him. Against her better judgment, she timidly pressed her lips to him again, feeling herself drift her body closer against his robes. With her legs still shaky, she found herself drooping down to the floor, but he crumpled with her, pulling her into his lap. Frollo hooked his left arm under her back, pulling her to his chest. His right hand cradled her head, thumb caressing her cheek, while his lips gently and persistently tugged at her own. She twitched when his tongue flicked across her mouth, coaxing her lips apart. Heart hammering, she reciprocated his touch, stroking her tongue over his. She could taste mint leaves on his breath, his tongue warmed against the roof of her mouth like alcohol; the sensation was hardly unlikeable. The minister's soft robes enveloped her, warm and comforting. It brought back memories of when she was little, when she was sad or scared or cold and Clopin would bundle her up in a blanket and hold her as he gently rocked her back and forth. How strange that the horrid old Minister of Justice could make her feel this way.

Amongst the overturned furniture in the large room, remnants of the inner battle the two had fought against, the stones of their thick barrier between each other began to crumble.

Frollo: His maddening thoughts fell silent when her hand brushed his cheek. She'd grasped some form of

sufferance towards him, which truthfully was more than he deserved. The minister did not protest, however. Her sentiment was enthusiastically received.

She withered to the floor and Frollo followed suit, reluctant to part from his dancer. Bathing in her warmth, he let unencumbered curiosity lead his exploration, cold fingers tracing her hips. She nestled into his embrace, the sensation both foreign and strangely welcoming. So the minister pulled her closer, resting her petite figure on his lap. She lay in his arms, so still, so quiet, so beautiful. The minister realized beyond any doubt that he could not go through with his initial plan. He was a good man, after all, and his conscience told him full well that Esmerelda did not deserve to be so treated.

But this realization hardly meant that he was _finished_ with her. The minister was a master cardplayer, one who knew that the cards did not always fall in predictable patterns and that he must be capable of adapting his strategy to fit the situation. The maneuver he now had in mind was a novel idea, something he had never attempted before. Every inch of her boasted some new, exotic commodity; unexplored territory Claude wished to seize for himself. His body grew stiff, pleading release from this venereal limbo. _Sancta Maria Mater Dei!_ The girl was so _clearly_ offering herself to him—dancing before him, _returning_ his kiss, and now _sitting in his lap!_—it was too much to bear. Surely, no deity could possibly expect a reasonable man to decline her gratuitous invitation. How drastically the righteous had fallen. No longer a politician, or sovereign authority clutched by faith. He was human, weak and susceptible to sin. As such, he tossed himself into natural inclinations, unhinged from his usual sensibility. In that moment, all he wished to know was her.

His lips trailed down her neck, nibbling her silken skin. It was meant as a taunt, but backfired upon him. He ached from his own actions. His tongue traced back up, reclaiming her lips. The kiss was long, and laced with poison.

He gracefully overtook her, pressing her back until she was overshadowed his imposing figure, trapped between him and the floor. She quivered as his hand slipped up her thigh, pushing her dress to a less than immodest length. He'd wanted the damn thing off ages ago, but held his composure. Simply ripping it off felt inappropriate for such a rare gem. Instead, he handled her like fine glass: delicately, tenderly, and with the utmost care. She deserved more than some wild beast charging into her.

Still, the burning temptation gnawed at his mind, every passing moment only fueling his desire for supremacy. He yearned for the tingle of skin beneath his palms, and the scratching sound of his nails gliding down her back.

Fifty years of self-discipline were barely enough to keep him from throwing himself upon her at once, but ultimately his usual sensibility triumphed over his raging instinct. No cat ever caught a mouse by sneaking up hurriedly and carelessly, and scaring it away. His lips lifted from hers to move right beside her ear. "Esmeralda…" he whispered, tasting her name. Softly, he molded his lips over her earlobe, his tongue gently playing with her gaudy earring. In response, she murmured and snuggled up closer. _Perfect._

He opened his mouth to speak, remaining sufficiently close that his lips brushed over her earlobe as they moved.

"…undress."

Esmeralda: It wasn't her first French kiss—she'd learned long ago that it was a useful trick for distracting men while Clopin relieved them of their belongings—but her head swam like a cork bobbing in a raging river. Eyes drifting closed, her head sunk back into the crook of his elbow when his lips finally released hers. Such soft, luxurious fabric, her hands slipped from his face to stroke his robes. The warmth he was generating was blinding her judgment, it made her remain in his arms. Her back arched when his lips moved from her own and down her neck—she quickly bit her lip when she heard herself moaning aloud. Flustered, she mentally scolded herself and attempted to regain control. _No, he's a horrible man, and besides I know what I'm doing, I've done this a million times, men are gross and my job is to manipulate them instead of giving them what they want…_

She was eased back further till she was lying on the floor, Frollo moved on top of her. She felt her breath catch when looking up at him, her heart beating fast again. His fingers pulled on her dress in an attempt to reveal more to him. His touch was cold yet hot at the same time. Like a searing touch. Her body was reacting to this against what her consciousness was telling her. She could even feel she actually was getting wet. A whimper came from her, this should not be, please stop, stop now! Still, she lay in his embrace, his kisses and touch surrounding her and comforting her.

She half smiled when he whispered her name, it too sent an odd sensation through her body. The word that followed gripped her muscles like a rigid vice.

"Undress."

Emerald eyes stung a little at that with hot tears. If this was going to happen, she wanted to be bed properly, but she was too afraid to ask for that. He'd probably think she would try and escape the moment he unlocked the door. Would she? Run back to the sanctuary of the Court of Miracles, hole away underground to her cold, empty bed? She bit her lip hard at that, fresh tears fell freely down her cheek. As gentle as he was right now, he still wanted her. Right here, on the floor. Beds are for ladies; the floor is suitable for whores. That should make her angry, make her push him off. Instead she could feel herself growing tired of fighting. For so long she fought off men's advances, why should Frollo be any different? No man has ever been this determined to have her. It actually consumed him to have her. Men who showed an interest would easily get distracted by someone else when she tossed aside their advances. Not Frollo. He would never rest till he had _her_.

She looked up at him. Warm, grey eyes returned her troubled green gaze. Far more bothersome to her than the idea of laying with him was the fear of what could happen next. After he got what he wanted, would he dispose of her in attempt to cover his scandalous behavior? And if not, what on earth might her people possibly do to her when they found out? Squeezing her eyes closed, she pushed against him to sit up a little, playing with the laces at the front of her corset. Her fingers were so clumsy, working at the laces. Never once during this did she look up, but knew his eyes were on her. Her fast-beating heart was making her ill to her stomach again. The laces fell away, the red corset hung open and her large breasts were now exposed for him. She grit her teeth to continue, her eyes stayed closed while she tugged it down, off her shoulders. The red fabric slipped down around her waist, she was nude from the top for him. Her tears would not stop flowing soundlessly during all this.

F: The minister was sufficiently interested in watching the dancer strip herself that he probably could have ignored a firecracker exploding behind his head. Still, it bothered him that she cried. She had no reason to trust him; the poor dear had seen such an awful side only a short time ago. He needed to calm her; even now she might panic and make some foolish attempt at heroism. "Don't be afraid," he spoke softly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I would never harm anyone who respected my authority—and it is my job to instruct you, is it not?"

"How can you be so gentle and yet so damn _pressuring_?" Her words were irritated, confused, overwhelmed.

"Shh." He attempted to cradle her close; she stiffened. He continued to speak. "You protested that I would never give your people a chance; will you likewise refuse to give me a _chance_ to prove that I could be your salvation instead of your damnation?" The minister dropped his voice to a lower, quieter, warmer tone; raising Quasimodo had given him many opportunities to practice the art of calming overexcited young people. "You asked me if I was a man of God, or a wild animal without feelings. It was clear that you had already decided on the latter, but I am gracious, I can show you otherwise." Gently, he smoothed back her hair. "And truthfully, I am sickened by the unfortunate circumstance, that I ought to hand you over to the cruelty of the immigration laws. Those _hideous, unfair_ rules that I have been tasked with enforcing." His fingers stroked her hairline, tucking a stray tendril behind her ear. "You poor dear, you have so many disgusting dogs trying to throw you around like a dirty rag. You deserve a _gentleman_ to pay attention to you, not some piece of trash."

To his great satisfaction, the girl had gone limp in his arms, her eyes drifted shut. Gently, he pressed his lips to one closed eyelid, then the other, before scooping her up in his arms. Weaving through the maze of overturned furnishings, he carried her to the one place in that chapel unscathed by their heated battle: the altar on the opposite end of the room. He blew out a few lit candles resting on the place of communion. The silent smoke danced around them, as he perched her atop that sacred stone monument. She sat a little below eye level, which he preferred. She was still beneath him, and vulnerable to his whims. Frollo cupped her chin and pulled her in for a kiss, the salt from her tears laced her lips. He continued down, nipping at the gypsy's neck, becoming more aggressive with every bite. It felt like hours before his hands took notice of her skin. They shook as he rolled them over her waist, jittery with nervous excitement. One finally rested on her breast, and then the other, slowly, carefully, kneading at her. Lips, tongue, and teeth soon followed their lead. Her noises and whispers urged him on.

Though pert and enticing, it was not her chest he wished to dine on. The damn girl had only done her job halfway, but there was no need to scold. He simply chose to correct her mistake; he could discipline her later.

His hands tugged at her half-strung dress, firm and with purpose. One by one her silks pooled to the floor, leaving nothing of her left to Frollo's imagination.

An imagination that had been completely incapable of formulating such a wondrous picture.

"You're absolutely beautiful," he whispered, half-frozen between wholehearted awe and burning instinct that begged him to jump on the altar immediately. He locked his eyes on hers, analyzing Esmeralda's reactions as his fingers slipped down her figure. A twinge in one area, a moan sounded from another. He recorded each response in his mind, mapping out every inch of her body with her series of jolts and whimpers. He'd finally reached her thighs after what felt an eternity, feminine warmth radiating off them. Her scent was different too, matured and saccharine.

Frollo took it upon himself to spread her at the knee. She wouldn't do so on command, he knew as much. She momentarily struggled, he assumed out of embarrassment, but there was no need for her formalities any longer.

He finally coaxed her legs apart with the slightest bit of force and fondling. To his pleasant surprise, she was already saturated, aroused by his assault; he felt a sense of pride in that. His idea was a curious thing, something he'd only heard rumor of from his more 'vocal' guards and their escapades with the city harlots. The outcome was always the same in their stories, and Frollo wished to test the theory for himself. A smile cracked across his face, and he imagined the gypsy's reactions.

His fingers traced her thighs, simple taunt, one meant to distract her from his actual agenda. Inquisitively, he dipped his tongue inside her, claiming her lower lips. Such a sweet flavor, from such a tart girl, he delved in again. Her tender voice rang in his ears as he continued, each flick bolder than the last. She bucked towards him, her enthusiasm seeping out in her words. Pressure built in the minister's groin, pleading for liberation, as he relished his first taste of the gypsy girl.

Esmeralda: The gypsy girl sat bare-breasted to him, the dress was around her waist, her head bent down low. There was no sound, but she knew he was staring at every inch of her exposed skin. Then, he began to speak, his droning baritone weaving through her brain like chloroform, dulling her senses. His movements were so gentle now, that of a different man verses the one who tore apart this room not that long ago. She was brought closer against him, her head came to rest on his shoulder. She felt his arms move around her. Her tears slowed a little, her body shook and shivered. The feelings of foolishness, fear and anger that had flooded her in hot waves were swamped by the more powerful rolling tide of his deep voice. She felt his hands on her back and through her hair. Again, so gentle—such a welcome contrast to those "disgusting dogs" as he had called them. Did they _really_ think they were winning her affection by trying to grab her backside when they thought Clopin wasn't looking?

Through coaxing, soft and gentle touches on her, Esmeralda did eventually relax in his arms. She felt her feet leave the floor as she was lifted and nestled closer against him in his arms. She burrowed her face into his robes, turning her body more into him so her chest was pressed against him. He smelled of woodsmoke and lavender, a welcome departure from the stench of unwashed skin and cheap alcohol that clung to the patrons at the Boar's Head. For a fleeting moment she thought he was actually going to carry her out, out of this room and into his own bed. Once again, such a foolish thought on her part. She was carried further through the room, away from the door, until she felt herself placed down on the altar table. The irony of his choice of horizontal surface was not lost on her—she was to be the sacrificial lamb, the meat for the beast. As gently as Frollo was behaving, he was still a monster. His eyes sought her hesitant ones out, lowering himself to kiss her tenderly. She found herself fully responding back with such fierce eagerness that even she could not comprehend.

He climbed on the table, velvet robes tickling her bare skin. The cold marble at her back provided a sharp contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body, causing her to feel him even more. Pale fingers slipped down her neck; he smiled when his maddening touch drew a moan and a twitch from her. Soft, silvery hair tickled her chin when his hands were followed by those thin lips, then—_oh!_ Gripped with an involuntary spasm when teeth bit into her neck, she howled out, throwing her arms to the sides and then around this starving incubus begging to dine on her.

"So delicious," he purred.

Mercilessly he pressed onward, sucking intensely at the tender place on her neck. The dancer whimpered, holding to him more tightly. He murmured against her skin in reply, tongue flicking against the place where her neck met her shoulders, hands investigating the nakedness beneath him. A gentle kiss was pressed to the hollow of her throat before his lips dipped lower to claim her breasts. Esmeralda felt herself buck against him, moaning out her unfiltered satisfaction.

"You were saying something?" His head lifted so that he could speak clearly, his deep voice echoing in the stone enclosure, reverberating in the air though his lips no longer moved.

"Don't stop," Esmeralda whimpered meekly.

"I don't intend to." The last words were murmured against her skin as his head dipped back down, breath fluttering over her sweat-slicked chest. He continued down her body, anointing her bare midriff with his soft kisses. Eyes rolling back in her head, vision drifting out of focus, Esmeralda relinquished control and hungrily absorbed his affection. That tiny voice of her conscience beat against her brain and reverberated through her skull, warning her that she was making a terrible mistake, but she stubbornly tuned it out. To hell with whatever Clopin would think if he found out; it served him damn right for complaining about Phoebus and trying to boss his sister around.

It was then that Frollo stood back on the floor. Lifting herself up a little when his fingers touched her hips, Frollo shimmied off the dress completely from her body. She now lay fully nude on the altar table. She wondered what he was plotting, as he had yet to undress. What was he waiting for? It was maddening to toy with her like this! A teasing sweep of his finger between her thighs and the answer to her frenzied thoughts was dangerously revealed. Her legs shakily parted for him, feeling the sticky wetness, as she watched his head lower. Eyes widening almost to the point of pain, she bit her lip to keep herself from gasping. _He isn't actually going to_—_he wouldn't-_

Oh. OHHHHHHHHHHH. Oh God.

Trying to hold back how his wet, slippery tongue made her feel was not working. She shuddered, bucked, and writhed, her moans and whimpers echoing in the stone enclosure. Any autonomy she had possessed over her reactions had been taken from her entirely, but could she really be angry with him when her senses were _enjoying_ the attention? Searing, icy-hot hands gripped her waist to restrain her movements when her writhing reached such a fever pitch to make it physically difficult for him to keep licking her. "_Claudeeeeeeeee!_" she howled out, crashing through the glass ceiling of her breaking point, unable to bear the overpowering heat for a moment more. He stood back up to face her, smug grey eyes catching her overwhelmed green ones. Never in her wildest dreams had Esmerelda imagined that she would allow that incorrigible old man to get this far with her, but the soft smirk on his face told her more clearly than spoken words that he was just getting started.

Frollo: Her gentle shivers raced against his tongue, nectar flowing from her. Much like a tender cadence,

his name escaped her lips. Her voice echoed in his ears, such a sweet song. He craved to hear the melody again.

While she still drifted in a blissful euphoria, Frollo slipped a finger inside the girl, fully aware he was driving her towards the brink of insanity. She shuddered, and twisted her hips, her motions mesmerizing. Enchanted by her ardent gestures, he let a second slide in, pressing his palm against her warmth, pushing in as deep as allowed.

Frollo leaned over, his free hand coddling her breast, lips and tongue eagerly exploring the rest of his dancer. His whole body grinding against hers, fingers gliding in and out. All the while he groaned and growled, working his way towards his own limitations. She responded to him, performing an aria, her rocking hips synched with his hand.

She squealed out again in a delightful drawl, leaning back on the altar, shivering. He hovered above her, simply enjoying her small trills. He trusted her not to move for a spell, and finally paid heed to his own aching.

Frollo's groin was searing, throbbing, a simple touch away from release. His breathing felt erratic. His blood boiled, muscles tensing. He craved a release, he craved _her_.

He clumsily stripped his own clothing, robes cast aside, no longer of any use in this unholy chamber. He tore into his shirt, practically ripping through the cursed fabric. All the while he glared at his prize.

Before he could strip his trousers, he pounced atop the girl. Chest against chest, skin against skin, heartbeats fading into a single pulse. He pressed his face into her hair, all he ever wished for was pinned

beneath him. He savored her scent, her touch and taste, gripping his nails at her skin, fully consumed by rabid passion. Her pulse shocked through his lips as he kissed her neck, her legs willingly parted, nearly wrapped around his waist.

The feeling was titillating, a violent calm before a deadlier storm. He could hardly handle his own torture, but the anguish itself was enough to keep him stunned, paused in that burning moment. She mewled in his ear, pushing tight against him, imploring him to continue. Only one motion, a sleight of hand, and she'd completely belong to him.

He took a hand to clasp her neck. The hold lacked any cruelty, but his eyes did not. He stood above his

pet, fearsome and feral, prepared to strike at a moment's notice. He rubbed his body against hers, a simple taunt. He held in his own exasperated pleasures, though not very well, as a final command breached his lips.

"Beg for me."

Esmeralda: Esmeralda lay shivering upon the table, definitely not from the slight chill in the room. Between her thighs there was still a faint quivering she could not fully calm, her legs and knees were so numb. Breathing out and looking up at the ceiling, she tried to bring herself back to some kind of composure. This down time would last but mere seconds when his finger was felt sliding inside her heated, slick entrance. Emerald eyes widened once more. His tongue was one thing, but now…. OH!

Her body reacted once more, she arched and writhed, riding his wicked index. A second finger slid inside, it made her whimper. A trail of clear secretion dribbled down from her opening, down the crack of her behind. It tickled as it did, it was also hot. Never in any nightmare could she imagine someone like Frollo would be able to make her this saturated. She was completely at his dark mercy, unable to resist, her body fully responded to his touch. Through her haze she caught flickering images of the judge above her, a mixture of black, white and gray, in the middle was a leering smirk, closing in on her, nipping and kissing at her neck in between the soft, droning words that the dripped from his lips like honey. She moaned and mewed out, bucking against his fingers. His wicked touch succeeded in releasing yet another orgasm from her, her body convulsed, her legs sprawling to the side. Esmeralda panted out, her hands reaching up to rest on her heaving chest. God help this outcast, this was how he would kill her!

A rustling sound had her perk up through her half-closed eyes, a whisper of velvet brushed past her curled toes, tickling her softly. Pushing up a little on her elbows to fully look, Frollo in front of her was

undressing. He became frustrated when his clothes did not unveil quickly enough for him. A lowly growl from him sent a shudder through her like a hot wave. She stared up at him, her breathing still shaky. _That_ was what was hidden underneath his clothing? How was that even possible! His body was actually well formed, it held tight muscle definition. Not unflattering at all, was her mind playing tricks on her, or was she so lost in this haze he had dragged her down in? To her greater astonishment, she saw the dagger buckled to his belt, saw him unbuckle it and toss it in the floor with the rest of his clothing. Everything gone but his trousers, he jumped up on her. Esmeralda gasped out when his body settled itself on her, his chest pressed against hers. Damn him though, he still had a fabric wall between them! Her hips rocked along with his in this mocking movement. She found herself unable to stop, wanting to tug at his yielding fabric. He had left her so achy and numb, it was cruel to be on top of her like this, barring her.

At the height of her squirming and reaching out, she felt a cold sensation hit her chest when he sat up and away from her again. She already wanted him back, wanted the warmth he was generating. This was maddening what he was doing to her. If he didn't kill her after this, her people probably would cast her out from the clan. Seduced by their most hated enemy? That would be a huge mark against her, severe disappointment. But no longer could she fight him, she welcomed his touch with fevered, outstretched hands.

His words suffused her with an ethereal electricity: "Beg for me."

Beg? Even while laying naked on the alter, completely at the judge's mercy, she would not _beg._ "You're gonna do it anyway, damn you, whether I _beg_ or not. You are the one who should be begging for _my_ permission."

"Your insolence is strangely charming." His head tilted slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His tone, his gaze, held such…affection? Esmerelda's brain swam in tumultuous confusion. What was wrong with her, she was supposed to _hate_ this man! Why was he warming her so? The effect he had on her was maddening—and to think _he_ accused _her_ of witchcraft and deviously manipulating the emotions of another human being.

The girl tried to force her mind to clear. She was making a terrible mistake, allowing him to play her like this. Where was the gallant heroism that sparked her genius performance at the festival? _Think, girl, think!_ Claude Frollo had brought a knife with him, only to throw it in the floor. She would have the element of surprise; she could jump off the altar, grab the knife, force him to get away from her. No, she should stab him on the spot!—but then what? She'd assuredly be caught—so she would stab herself as well, and die a hero's death, the sinless maiden who had given her own life to save her people from this wretched monster!

"You do realize…I need not be your enemy." Hand stroking her neck, he moved his lips closer to her ear. "The choice is yours, my love." The vibration of his vocal cords jumped the hair's breadth of air between his lips and her ear, relentlessly trembling throughout her whole body.

Esmerelda was teetering on the edge of the dark, swirling abyss. For years, she'd fought off the advances of white-trash men who only saw her as a toy to be played with. She'd impressed her overprotective brother Clopin with her determined self-restraint, to the point that he soon no longer objected to her sensual dancing.

Now, she was laying naked on the altar with the wealthiest and most powerful man in Paris looming over her, his shadow engulfing her as silently and surely as a pall over a coffin. And by a bizarre, cruel twist of fate, this same man was her brother's most hated enemy. It would not matter to Clopin that the coldest heart in Paris had warmed to her and her alone, that Jupiter himself had sent her some pearls, that the judge was NOT some white-trash skirt-chaser who'd head for the nearest prostitute once he realized that Esmerelda would not cater to his whims. She would be branded a traitor of the highest notoriety and forever bear the shame.

The minister, her people's hated enemy, wanted _her_ and her alone. Even though she had slapped him across the face, a crime that she could have justly served time for. Even though his reputation would never recover should word get out that this straight-laced monument to virtue had spent the night with a foreign-born girl who danced on a pole. Even though he knew that she was the younger sister of the gypsy king and her people's beloved princess, and that "tarnishing" her might well be enough to incite the entire gypsy population to storm the Palace and kill him.

She had to hand it to him; that was an incredible level of determination. A level that would allow her to feel little shame in ultimately surrendering to him.

With a stubborn determination that she needed to act now lest she change her mind, she ripped off the last of his clothing, leaving him standing in the pale moonlight like a marble statue. "You win," Esmeralda said simply. "Take me."

Frollo: Esmeralda, the notorious gypsy who once stood as a beacon of hope to her people, now lay still and submissive beneath the dark judge, fully consenting to her enemy's touch. Her blazing ardor had dwindled to embers, consumed by a much stronger fire.

"Good girl," he whispered with the fierceness of a raging storm.

Such a pitiful sight, but enchanting all the same, this newly tainted female. She believed herself to be a virtuous martyr, one who could lead her people to shining age of grandeur and glory, yet was now confined to same perpetual struggle the minister was bound to. No longer could she deny his advances, no longer could she fight for her purity. She was lost on a shaded path, sealed by mortal corruption, and Frollo would be her guide.

His cold hands rubbed down her sides, resting firmly on her hips. He latched his nails into the girl's skin, restricting her movement, and smothering her last shred of freedom with his constricting grasp. She beseeched him in a series of whimpering yowls, her hips nearly thrashing against loins. With a guiltless heart, he responded to her wishes, slowly, carefully, slipping inside his dancer.

The sensation was electrifying and hypnotic. It'd been an eternity since he'd found himself in such bliss. She was searing, dripping, and trembling with enthusiasm. Frollo quaked alongside her, unsteady, and lost in rapture.

Her small voice echoed in the empty room, pleading for him, all of him, and the judge was eager to satisfy her cries. He watched her pensively, her eyes shut tight. If her claims of innocence were true, then his next few motions would only pain her. He could easily turn hostile, secure his prize in one fell swoop, yet something held him from such a brutish deed. Whether it was her tender whines, or his drained emotional state, he did not know, but instead he chose to take her in good faith, jointly descending into iniquity.

He pulled her up to face him, sitting her on the edge of the altar. Esmeralda's arms instinctively coiled around his neck. Frollo sighed, and kissed her forehead. There was no real meaning behind it, he only assumed it would be of some comfort, that it would somehow keep her steady. He pressed her close, sliding further within her. One decisive thrust, a gentle yelp from her lips, and she belonged to him.

Frollo quaked from the sting of ecstasy, trembling in elation, as a warming wave washed over him. His teeth grazed her shoulder, biting hard into her sullied flesh, as he drove into her again and again. Picking a rhythm, he fervidly rocked his hips, baying under the primitive moonlight. Their medley rang through the chapel, a lucid chorus of sinful desire. Nothing so forbidden could boast such divine pleasures.

His pace quickened to match his heartbeat, rapid and frantic, all his contemplations of her being fully explored in his motions. Her nails raked over his spine, gingerly teasing his pale skin. His breath was erratic, almost gasping, as a cold chill raced over him. Her trills unhinged the arcane minister, her song almost soothing, a sacred melody. His words slurred out in a beaten harmony, unable to contain his own zealous cravings.

"Esmeralda," he cried, "Oh, Esmeralda." She was all that he imagined, and all that he desired.

Esmeralda: Her voice trailed off, the invitation was received and now granted-there was no going back now. The gleam in the eyes of the judge as he looked down on her sent another shiver down her spine. His soft, seductive voice continued to swim through her thoughts, overwhelming any rational reasoning that instructed her to fight back. Fleeting thoughts surfaced briefly, only to be swept away again, from that dark river of his voice that flowed through her brain, in those precious seconds before the all-consuming plunge. Thoughts of her people, Clopin and the welfare of the city in general. It was as though their backs were slowly turning on her, fading away into wispy mists. In a different situation this would sadden her, but her body would not allow her to stop until fully released. She would follow Frollo's eager hand down this path. A path of either destruction or salvation; only when the final curtain came crashing down upon this dangerous game would the answer be revealed.

Half expecting to be taken almost instantly, Esmeralda's eyes squeezed tightly shut while laying on her back. She felt hands grasp her shoulders, not roughly but firmly, pulling her into a sitting position. One eye slowly opened first to see Frollo in front of her. Her mouth fell open a little in a silent gasp, surprised he would sit her up to be closer to his face. She found herself reaching up to link her arms around his neck. Heat radiated from his lips when he tenderly kissed her forehead. It caused a dizzy sensation of euphoria, she slid her face forward to thump lightly against his chest. Her arms held tightly to him, she was dipped back just a little as his body pressed further into her.

It was here her eyes widened at the moment of entrance. Despite how wet from arousal she was, it could not fully buffer the stab of pain that engulfed her lower region. A cry fell from her lips, she pressed her face closer to rest against his bare shoulder. A faint metallic scent rose up between them, she could feel the wetness dribble down, knowing full well it was a little bit of blood. It was done then, Judge Claude Frollo had claimed her virginity as his, owning her in that single moment. She felt him quiver inside her, heard him moan out. They both clung to each other in those first few wobbly steps. Their bodies slowly unfurled from their rigid slumber, each thrust igniting a powerful warmth that spread throughout the both of them. Esmeralda could feel herself stretch further to welcome him completely. Her long legs curled around him, urging him to thrust deeper.

Her back connected with the table once again, she looked up to see Frollo grinding into her. Her cries and moans intermingled with his. Her hips bucked in a rhythm she quickly caught on with him. It was maddening how a natural instinct had consumed the both of them, one that any living creature since the dawning of time discovers and follows wholeheartedly. In between thrusts, her nails would race down his back. It caused more moans and growls from him. Esmeralda impishly smiled, she never thought she would lift her ruby lips into a pleased expression ever again. A man like Frollo brought that out of her, the universe was a strange thing. How it shifted and pitted individuals such as herself in a very confusing and surreal situation. He could still very well destroy her after all was said and done, but at this point it no longer mattered.

Feeling the need to experiment this new situation, she tightened herself around him. It not only made him growl louder, it sent the sweetest tingling feeling through her. It felt like a blazing fire. Esmeralda whimpered out a cry, her legs shuddering at the spasm it caused. Hearing him moan out her name, his voice heavily laced in euphoria, she knew he was caught in this web just as deeply as she was.

Frollo: Frollo delved inside the girl with perfervid grandeur, unwilling to bow beneath the weight of immoral pleasure. Each solid thrust catering to louder moans. In response, the dark beauty beseeched her captor, bound by blood and insensible cravings, lost in heat and passion. The judge begged his body to hold until his appetite was sated, wishing to bask in the grand elegance of his maiden for a few moments longer. Yet, like all amorous splendors, this twisted evening of abysmal elation would soon fade to memory.

She was the first to fall, frantically howling as she succumbed, falling prey to the incubus feasting upon her. One final plunge, a subsequent falter, and Frollo's body betrayed him, engulfed by ethereal bliss.

The minister was floating on clouds, adrift on a sea of otherworldly euphoria. Barely aware of his actions, he gently stroked her ebony hair, her soft mewling reaching his ears as if from some great distance. Eyes closed, he bathed her radiant warmth as she twitched beneath him.

Entwined by fate and ferried by misconception, these fragile lovers lie weary and worn in a house of divine splendor. Truth explored through sin; a transgression sealed by the offering of a chaste, demure maiden. The minister slumped atop the gypsy, clutching her delicate skin, and attempting to regain some form of composure. His breaths were hardy and full, the pace haughty and staggered. Frollo was known to overexert himself while preforming civil duties, but for once this exhaustion was welcomed. Through a taxing triumph, he won his right to gypsy girl, yet was now unsure if his conquest was worth the imminent struggle peering over the horizon.

As with those twenty winters past, Frollo spat on holy grounds. Adultery now added to his accused murder; there was a special place in Hell waiting for him. He dipped into the dark pools of lust, and was suddenly brought to a crossroad of what to do with his guest. He couldn't allow her to leave, the entire city would be in an uproar by dawn. "Heresy," the crowd would shriek, weapons in hand. Those peasants were always up for some sort of execution, and, unfortunately, Frollo was not exempt from such a fate. However, Esmeralda was who he was most concerned with. A single oversight would mean the end of his reign, but she was too precious a gem to simply sacrifice to the fire. One teetering thought constricted his mind. It was a simple solution, but a precarious one.

Cold hand bracing her cheek, Frollo sighed, initially hesitant of his decision. She trembled beneath him, half-dazed and unsure of his touch. Their lips met for a brief moment, rekindling his carnal nature, and

snuffing out his apprehension. Too long had his earthly pleasures been denied in this foul mortal coil. He was honorable, noble, but was never offered the faintest reward for his services. His guards, his palace,

his position all carved out by him alone, only to be given no true comforts for his grueling efforts. An accolade was well earned; he chose the beautiful Esmeralda as his prize. The judge was already assured his way into eternal paradise, for he was, by any of his definitions, a righteous man. What harm would come if he claimed his heavenly earnings a few years in advance?

Gathering his robes, Frollo hastily dressed, as if within some brief instant the firm clutch of faith would drag him away from this blurred path. Once clothed, he turned back to the girl, eyes burning, a half-sincere smile gracing his face. He gripped her fragile figure, bringing her into his arms, all the while panting, snickering, ecstatic to grasp her with such complete control. He held her close to his chest,

weaving through the dismantled room, nearly ripping though the barred doors and stumbled into the hallway. As predicted, there shouldn't be any interior guards at this hour, not that it mattered. No one under his influence would dare question the minister's motives, unless they placed no value on their life.

Tearing through the darkness, at a near inhuman pace, Frollo pressed onward though the labyrinth of hallways and corridors. His quarry, captured, tamed and exhausted, fell limp as he swept her into the night.

Esmeralda: At the sound of the judge's throaty growl and a final thrust, Esmeralda sprawled back on to

the table. Its cool surface felt blissful on her heated, sweaty back. Frollo soon followed, collapsing on top of her. She panted and breathed out, still finding this experience surreal. Maybe she was really still in her own bed, down in the Court of Miracles, sleeping peacefully with her little goat Djali curled up beside her. Looking up through heavy eyelids was the pale sweaty face of the minister.

No. This was bizarrely real.

Their eyes met fully after their tumultuous union. Even though his eyes were staring straight at her, she could see many thoughts were no doubt tumbling around inside. Regardless of how gentle and romantic and passionate Frollo had been a few minutes ago, he still had a reputation to defend. He had promised not to hurt her if she cooperated with him, but Esmerelda could too easily see him deciding to dispose of her anyway and justifying his actions with some garbage like "I realized that Esmerelda made it too difficult to maintain my integrity and in order to enable myself to perform my job as well as I should, I had to get rid of her." She may be exhausted, numb, shaky and strangely satisfied, she would force herself to defend herself by any means possible.

When his hand slid along her cheek so tenderly, tilting her chin for her lips to close over his, her eyes widened. She muffled and whimpered a little, debating if she wanted to question him or just slide back

further down into these confusing emotions he was causing in her. The kiss broke temporarily as Frollo stepped back to hastily gather up his clothing. Wha…what was he doing? She decided to do the same, cover up. Shaky hands scrounged around to find where her dress fell off to, right along with her dignity and gypsy pride. Her legs felt wobbly and sore as they touched the cold stone floor to pick up her dress. Sitting back on the edge of the table, she pulled on the red dress. Just barely pulling it up and over her heaving bosom, not even getting the straps secured completely, Frollo's hands were on her again. Esmeralda yelped out, surprised by this. What was he doing? Another go? Heavens, what had she awakened in him! There was a strange expression, something new, a side he never revealed. It was so very faint, but it was a soft, genuine smile. His eyes, on the other hand, still had fire burning in them. She started struggling a little, protest, but it did nothing. Her limp, sore body was lifted into his arms, her head resting against the softness of his now robed self.

Swiftly, she was carried through the overturned room, the remains of their battle, her emerald eyes darted about frantically from up at his face, to the surroundings. Through the door he carried her and out into the dark, vastness that was the Palace of Justice. What was he doing? Where was he taking her! "Frollo, what are you doing?" She was held tightly close against him. It could be felt just from how he held her he was taking such great care. But why?

Her mind raced. She could just struggle and kick to free herself and flee into the night. That is, if she could find an exit from here. Such struggling would arouse the entire building, bringing every soldier on her. It would bring out Frollo's rage again, but this time even worse than before. Death would assuredly happen if she did that. She instead lay still in his arms while visions of their union teased her mind. She bit her lip, shook her head and pressed her face against his chest.

She was carried up the stairs, darkness still all around safe for flickering torches along the walls. Her heart began to race just as quickly as the steps Frollo took, realizing where he was taking her. Carried on through into a large room at the end of the hall, she heard her own voice gasp out. His bedroom….she was brought to Frollo's bedroom! Oh, no, he was going to lock her away like some caged bird in his own room. Her body was still sore and numb, exhaustion also had a hold on her too, but still she shuddered at this realization of her fate. Frightened emerald eyes looked up at her captor. It was as if once tasting forbidden fruit he was reduced to a desperate soul that now would spirit her away, keep her under his penetrating, watchful eye, never to fly free again.

Frollo: Her question fell silent, blocked by deaf ears. Frollo was all to consumed with the task at hand,

snaring his sweet gypsy deeper within the palace. The nip of excitement pulsed through him, followed by the sting of concern. This curious denouement fell far his initial plot. He'd shown weakness, even a touch of warmth toward her. That notion made him ill, though she'd also displayed far more than simple offhanded interest.

She was close to him now, braced against his chest, yet the minister was not eased by her consent. Esmeralda had done nothing to earn his trust, and there was no promise she'd remain so compliant. For all he knew, his little bird was plotting to hook her talons deep within her keeper, forever stifling the memory of this unholy night. Such a precarious situation he'd stumbled in. He'd need to quiet her, to ensure this witch's fiery nature dwindled to embers, but his usual methods were too distasteful for such paramount company. Besides, Esmeralda would nearly bite off her tongue before she'd submit to the judge's whims, and forcing himself upon the girl would only push her further away. This perilous path was indeed laced with a plethora of quandaries, and a single blunder would shatter his gambit.

Frollo's mind halted as he reached the entry to his chambers. Without pause he pushed the door open and strode into the lavish quarters. Stacks of parchment acted as décor, ink and quill readily beside them. Elegant tapestries worth more than their weight in gold were draped over the stone walls, and, a less than surprising feature, a small fireplace flickering in the night. It was truly a reflection of Frollo's

own enigmatic soul. Even his bed was opulent, lined with fine textiles known only to adorn royal chambers.

Before he dared to handle the gypsy's ardent spirit, he needed to clip her wings. Even now, he feared she'd attempt some daring escape. Haphazardly, Frollo dropped her on his bed, and dashed back to the door. A swift flick of the wrist, and the was room locked, sullying any devious plots. He then turned around, curiously cocking his head, a baleful grin carved in his face. The minister was drunk off his own

arrogance, driven half mad by a potent overlay of indecorous intentions. Yet, the melodious whispers of night hummed like a siren's song, draining the man of his vigor. Even the mighty predator must rest after a hunt.

He strode towards her, head held high, disrobing once again. Esmeralda sat unnerved and unsure, a fair enough response. Frollo was being rather cryptic; he hadn't spoken a word since he whisked her away from chapel. Lucky for her, his animalistic ambitions had quieted. He desired a respite as much as she, but not without boasting a last-ditch effort to assert his claim.

He loomed above the girl, coaxing her back with a steely glare. His cold hands pawed at her hips, clutching the thin fabric beneath them as he stole a final kiss. Tugging down her dress, his fingers rhythmically traced her curves. Frollo sensed the girl was weary, paralyzed by exhaustion, as she hardly protested the silken fabric slipping off her. He desperately craved her warmth, her tender, tired skin gliding against his own, and he refused to heed her modesty.

Still, mortality weighed heavy upon him, no longer could he press onward as a feral beast. With a disgruntled sigh he fell to his side, pulling his quarry into his chest. His fingers tangled in her ebony hair as he held her, firmly grasping the gypsy within his constrictive embrace. She felt still, settled, clutching this opportunity for rest. Caressing his maiden, Frollo let his own tension go, finally drifting off the sleep.

Esmeralda: Her own voice betrayed her exhaustion once she was placed down onto his bed. She could not remember feeling such softness, silky comfort ever in her life! The little cot in her wagon that she covered with whatever fabrics and blankets she had found failed to compare to this extreme

comfort. Her body was begging her to relax, sore muscles aching all over, yet still her heart squeezed as the lock was fastened in place. Esmeralda watched how calm he was as he moved about the room. His silence was unnerving her so deeply.

She herself found she could not speak either, inside though she was screaming. Her own emotions and yearnings had already betrayed her down in the chapel. Screaming out now to be released would sound incredibly stupid at this point. He had fooled her good when he stared at her before she allowed him to take her. That broken soul he showed her beneath his monster lines. Frollo had her exactly where he wanted her, it explained that grin of his as he moved about like he was floating on clouds. And yet, she hated to admit it nor would he ever either, he did seem genuinely different. Gloating definitely now, but there was something different about him. There was assuredly still a danger she was in. The judge may not actually be interested in killing her anymore, he wanted to keep her instead with a fierce, unbridled passion. Frollo was dangerous before with his killings without any mercy since he had nothing truly to live for. Now that he had staked claim over her body he would be incorrigible.

Her breath hitched when he came back over to her. The look in his eyes was so primal; she would have been terrified were she not so exhausted. Inside she was still fuming at this mistake she made. She wanted to swipe at that grin of his! He seized her in a heavy kiss that had her yelp out but surrender anyway. Eased on to her back, her dress was pulled down again, his fingers were all over on her. Struggling a little did nothing, she knew he would paw at her any time he wanted, in his mind she belonged to him. Her emerald eyes stared back at him in a mixture of emotions, disgust being one of them. Disgust more in herself. Her body still longed so deeply for rest, and this comfort he was providing was making it so difficult to protest. Pulled into his embrace, her body was nestled in so closely to his. It was an odd sensation that this man she only knew to be driven solely by evil was now cuddling her with such tenderness. Hands that kill so easily were now gently on her. It was like being caressed by a serpent, that fear in the back of her mind that if he really wanted to he could just snap her neck. Maybe if she could get his guard lowered she could wiggle out and…and what? Kill him? Even if she were successful she still was locked inside; his men would eventually come in and kill her. The window? Climb out the window? How high up were they? Her people would discover she's missing at some point, but would they even think to look here? No one wants to come near this evil place! Her body sagged, these thoughts only stressed her more.

Exhaustion won out over her anxious thoughts. She laid limply in his arms as the heavy pall of sleep descended upon her.

Frollo: Dawn gathered on the horizon, unmasking all sins concealed by evening's shadows. The midnight veil stripped away by the rays of morning, yielding to a menagerie of colors cutting through the charred darkness. Daybreak crafted painterly image, but its depiction was smeared upon a sullied canvas.

Frollo was the first to stir, being a man regularly awake before dawn. The dull, droning, dissonance of Notre Dame's bells rang through the city, and were loosely followed by an unfamiliar cadence sounding from his chambers. In a panic, his eyes shot open, only to find the lovely Esmeralda braced against his chest. For a moment his paused, assuming his evening encounter was fantasy born of his twisted obsession over the girl. Yet, this was not the truth that lay bundled in his arms.

He should have been elated to have finally have won the only prize he had ever desired, yet he could not dismiss his disgust with himself. He, the lofty monument to virtue, the proud destroyer of the wicked, the fervent defender of law and order, had impulsively gotten in bed with some goddamn pole dancer.

His conscience immediately slapped him. _Esmerelda is not "some goddamn pole dancer". She's a strong, independent woman, just trying to keep her people fed._

She wasn't some disgusting harlot who placed no value in herself. She had even been a virgin.

Emphasis on the "had been". Frollo gritted his teeth. His _job_ was to lead the people of France down the path of righteousness, not to…help them misbehave. _Sancta Maria Mater Dei!_ How had he managed, over the course of the past twelve hours, to fall from the most self-disciplined man in the city to a middle-aged man who had watched a 20-year-old girl dance, wrestled against his own desire, and _lost_?

Esmeralda: Because she was still asleep, her sense of pride and loyalty to her clan did not prevent her from instinctively burrowing closer to the warm body beside her. Her head rested on his chest, his arms were wrapped snuggly around her. His gentle breathing, the soothing crackling of the fireplace, and the comfort of the bedsheets all contributed to make this the best sleep she'd had in weeks.

An unfamiliar sound stirred her sleep. It reminded her of…bells? Why on earth would there be bells in the Court of Miracles? These were much too deep-toned to be Clopin's little jingle bells…

Sleepily, her eyes blinked open. She was curled up in the arms of…

Oh. God. No.

_Congratulations, Esmerelda Trouillefou, you have just been seduced by Monsieur Sexy Voice. Who happens to be old enough to be your father. Oh, and he's also trying to ship your entire family out of France._ She could not even describe her disgust; the words simply did not exist that could express the depth of loathing she felt for both him and herself.

"You're awake," he said.

"Ummmm…no I'm not awake," Esmerelda replied. "I'm having a really creepy dream. I'm going to wake up back in the Court of Miracles in my wa—OW!"

"You're _awake_, dear." His thumb and index finger released the skin under her jaw.

"I realize that now," she grumbled.

"Is _this_ the reaction I get after giving everything to you?" Even within minutes of waking up, the judge could still deliver a frosty put-down.

"N-no," Esmerelda backpedaled quickly. She hated having to think first thing in the morning. "I'm—just—overwhelmed. And stunned."

What in Hell had gone so wrong?! Esmerelda had used this schtick before. She'd played men like a little bird teasing a snake, swooping tauntingly around its head, narrowly avoiding those sharp fangs as the snake lunged again and again.

Except _this_ time, she'd been a goddam fool and let the snake bite her.

And bite her, and bite her, and bite her, and…ugh. She pulled the covers up to her chin. If she couldn't see those little red marks that Frollo's teeth had left on her neck and chest from the previous night, maybe she could convince herself that they didn't exist. Damn him, she'd have to cover _everything_ between her navel and her face for a week!

She stiffened in surprise at the gentle tug of fingers in her hair. Those pale, marble hands continued stroking her neck and back. The response should have been revulsion, but Esmerelda instead allowed herself to be coaxed back into his embrace. In spite of herself, she still found his warmth so comforting and reassuring.

Gently, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face to look directly into his. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead against her own. Instinctively their lips drifted together. The fierce warmth from the previous night was returning to her bones as the judge held her tighter, hands growing bolder as they caressed her soft skin.

The little voice screamed desperately in her head, telling her to slap him away, but yet again those warm fuzzy feelings turned her iron resolve into overcooked porridge. What use was there in even _trying_ to restrain herself? He'd gotten her good last night, resisting him further was completely pointless…

Frollo: Her legs coiled around his waist, which only drove him further down this path of dark disillusions. Had his captive songbird finally succumbed to his whims? He couldn't be more thrilled if she was.

He gripped her ever tighter, goaded by the visible display of desire swirling in her eyes. He'd craved that gaze, exhilarated that she yearned for his constricting embrace. After all this time, he'd finally crushed that hindering sense of pride she held so dear. The only pride she would hold now, was that she alone belonged to the most powerful politician in Paris.

The bells chimed once again, and her cadence followed suite. His own resolve broke soon after. A sultry sting ebbed through him, and his breath relinquished a distorted growl, deep and foreboding, a reminder of the beast lurking within. Her shivers pulsed through his palms as she trembled mercilessly beneath him. There was even an odd shakiness in her voice when her lips parted to speak, but the words that fell through were stable enough to snap Frollo back into a more sensible state.

"My relatives and my employer will soon notice that I'm missing, and they can figure out where to look. Our conversation outside of the Boar's Head was hardly private." Her words cut through him, sharp and cold. Unfortunately, Esmeralda was not off par. This was not to be a liaison built upon mutuality. They were entangled in something far greater. After all, it wouldn't be long before her companions would scour the city in hopes of finding their missing sister. Gypsies were known to keep a keen eye on their blood, after all. Even Frollo had to be wary with his executions concerning her kind. They required privacy, secrecy, shelter from the wandering eyes of the citizens. Esmeralda would be no different, but hiding her was not his primary concern. Could he trust her to not expose the details of their lascivious evening? Who was to say she wouldn't run back to her hive and cry wolf to the entire caravan? Rumors of him copulating with the very creature he hated would seep through every corner the city, and he knew there were many who would seize that opportunity as grounds to strip him of his titles. No, he had to play his cards safer than before, and the only way to ensure his own security, was to ensure he held all his foreboding power above Esmeralda.

"You speak of this as if I fear your people," Frollo began, a hint of annoyance breaking his lucid tone. "The concerns of your brethren are no concerns of mine, and I refuse to relinquish such a rare gem back to the filthy maws of those slithering deviants."

His words were harsh, but truth cut through his ploy. The minister pushed himself off the girl, a harrowing sigh escaping his lips. This was quite the dilemma. Even with his level of power and influence he couldn't hide her in the palace forever. Word would spread fast as wildfire if any servants saw her, but could he trust the girl to keep her mouth shut if he let her go? She'd been rather complacent, but the fear in her eyes wove a weary tale. She was obviously frightened of him, which put the minister at a greater advantage. The fear gambit was something Frollo specialized in, keeping the commoners at bay with a few simple, minatory words rolling off his tongue. Esmeralda was a free woman no more. She belonged to the judge now, and was as vulnerable to his honeyed words as the rest of his pawns.

She glared anxiously at him, a thousand secrets held captive in her emerald eyes. He couldn't let his guard down around her, this whole endeavor could have turned into some rebellious ruse setup by her

people, though he doubted they were intelligent enough to execute such a clever plan. No, this was all upon her. She was the only piece he had to play.

He quickly snatched her chin, a light gasp escaped her. He smiled in response with a menacing grin.

"You should know well I will not tolerate any nonsense with you. Your value is measured by how much you're able to entertain me, and your so-called freedom was stripped the moment you set foot in my Palace. You're mine, and I expect you to act accordingly," he paused, pulling away from her to gather his robes. "I'll allow you to see your people, but this is not an extended arrangement. Take what you need, tie up any loose ends you have scattered about. You'll return to me this evening."

Updated 1-11-2020. Some small edits for clarity and improved the formatting a little.


	3. Chapter 3

Monster Lines, continued

E: What on earth had she gotten herself into THIS time? Clopin was always on her case for making rash decisions, but he would be _furious_ about this one. No question about it.

Of course, Clopin was not her only worry. The more potent threat was standing an arm's length away from her at this very minute. His full awareness of the precariousness of the situation was making him distressed, and prone to lash out violently at anyone or anything without warning. If she made the first move, maybe she could disarm him.

"You needn't worry about my loyalty, _Claude_," she began. "Last night was _amazing_, you think I _won't_ be back?" She stepped in close to him, hooking an arm around his neck, leaning in for a kiss. As she had hoped, he caved. _It's working. Mess with his feelings and he'll forget about his anger long enough for you to get away unhurt._ The judge's hands tightened around her waist, so gentle and yet so fierce, as if he wanted to keep her there forever.

Doubtless he _did_ want to keep her there forever, but they both knew that her prolonged absence would be noticed.

Hesitantly and unwillingly, he broke off the kiss. He pushed her back enough that he could stare down into her eyes. Esmerelda grimaced inside. If only she were taller.

"It is in your best interests," he said slowly and forcefully, "that you have a believable explanation to give to your people, should you be asked where you were last night."

_And when they don't believe me, you'll make me pay hell and tell me it's all my fault that we got busted._ Esmerelda was not stupid. "Well, _you're_ the judge. I'll bet you've heard more than one extravagant lie during your illustrious career. Do you have any suggestions?"

He blinked, then a smile spread across his face. "I believe I do," he replied. "Tell Clopin and all of his little cronies that you have duped me into trusting you and you come here to spy. Then feed him all sorts of false information about the Palace! Explain to him that you'll be spending most of your time here. Oh, I'll also send two of my guards with you, to escort you to your people. To gauge your peoples'…ah…_level of excitement_ upon finding out that you are a double agent."

Esmerelda silently cursed herself. Perhaps she should have come up with her own story after all. Now, she had palace guards trailing after her, watching her every move.

"What an excellent idea," she told the judge in a tone that she hoped would sound enthusiastic.

"They'll be instructed to remain inconspicuous, of course. We mustn't have Clopin thinking that he's being watched. I hope I can trust you to keep him in the dark?"

"Of course," Esmerelda responded, hating herself more with every heartbeat.

F: The judge didn't know how to feel whenever E and the two guards finally disappeared from his sight. Should he be ashamed of being interested in a girl who was more than 30 years his junior? Should he be excited that, for the first time in decades, he might have a chance at human companionship? His soul had not realized how starved it truly was, until it found what it was longing for.

Perhaps his confusion stemmed from the fact that he had not allowed himself to experience _any_ emotions for years. It was bad enough when he lost his parents as a child, but after he couldn't protect Jehan…It was just better not to get attached to anything or anyone.

His musings were interrupted by snickering whispers from the guards down the hall. Frollo caught the words "girl", "fascinating", and "why".

Frollo returned to his usual stone-faced manner. A little lesson needed to be learned here. Gliding silently over the stone floor, he went completely unnoticed by the preoccupied guards until he stood directly over them.

"My gray hair may be working to my advantage." The guards jumped at the voice they had learned to quiver in fear of. "It appears that you two have assumed I am hard of hearing."

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!" One of the guards immediately stood up straight and saluted. "Judge Claude Frollo SIR! Yes SIR! Nothing wrong with your hearing SIR!"

"Then stop shouting." Frollo responded with his well-developed mixture of disdain and disgust that rarely failed to leave people feeling inferior to the dirt on which they stood.

Both guards stood as straight as wooden planks, failing to keep themselves from shaking with fear.

Frollo folded his hands into their customary steeple, fingers barely touching. "Have your tongues suddenly vanished from your mouths?" he asked, slowly pacing back in forth in front of his men.

One of the guards broke down. "W-we were just wondering if that was the same gypsy girl that we saw around here yesterday evening."

_A hurried rephrasing of "Didn't that girl just spend the night here?"_ Frollo was no fool. Yet, he was not perturbed. Years of sifting through the miserable alibis of worthless defendants (ah, how cathartic it was to serve their just desserts to those whining, cringing fools) had taught him the fine art of lying.

"She indeed is the same girl," he responded. "She happens to work for me—as a double agent."

"Oh!" the guard gasped quickly. "Uh, genius idea, Your Honor! A double agent!"

"Y-yeah!" the other guard followed, his head bobbing at an unnatural frequency. "A double agent! Exactly what we were thinking, Your Honor!"

They were quickly silenced by the hardening of their master's countenance. "Has it escaped your miniscule brains," he sneered, "that my _job_ these past twenty-five years has been to expose and punish the deceitful?"

Neither of them spoke, knowing from experience that either a "yes" or "no" answer to the judge's query would merit a severe flogging.

"You have been concocting egregious falsehoods about my character. An unwise source of amusement," the judge continued. "But I am a just man, and I must confess that I am partially to blame for this. It appears I have not worked you hard enough, thus allowing you to become bored and dissatisfied."

"We'll work as hard as you like, Your Honor sir," one of them piped up eagerly.

"We'll wash all of your windows," the other one added quickly with a panicked smile. Both had learned from experience the horrors of allowing Judge Claude Frollo enough time to meticulously construct a fitting method of punishment. Hopefully, he would quickly agree to the window-washing and this hideous exchange would be finished.

"It appears I have erred again with you. Already you assume that you can quickly earn my pardon? I have been much too lenient in my previous dealings with you."

The despair and horror smeared across the guards' faces was almost as pleasurable as the previous night's unexpected turn of events. "Repeat after me," the judge intoned, savoring their terror. "You are worthless idiots."

"We are worthless idiots," the guards echoed obediently.

"You are undeserving of the generosity I show you in allowing you to earn your keep in my holy palace."

"We are under serving the green city of—uh—uh—" Panic flashed in the guards' eyes.

Frollo smiled. Grinding his minions' self esteem into the dirt was a favorite pastime of his, and one at which he excelled.

"Go," he spat. "Perhaps you can prove yourselves competent enough to wash windows."

E: What on earth had she just done? How was she supposed to get out of this mess?

One thing she knew for certain: she must not lead the soldiers to the Court of Miracles. Instead, she headed back for the town square. Within minutes, one of her gypsy friends located her. "Esmerelda," the woman gasped. "We have been so worried. _Where have you been? _A few of us overheard your conversation with Frollo outside of the Boar's Head yesterday, and we feared the worst!"

"I've been honing my skills as a spy," Esmerelda replied as calmly as she could, hoping that her pounding heart was audible only to herself. "I need to see Clopin. _Now_. It's extremely important. It has to do with Frollo, ok?"

The woman's eyes widened as she nodded her agreement. E periodically looked back over her shoulder to check if the guards were following them.

The guards were still behind them, keeping their distance, when she saw Clopin. His face brightened like the horizon at sunrise when he recognized her face. "Esmerelda!" he gasped, bolting through the crowd and wrapping her in an embrace that lifted her from her feet. "Where have you been?"

"I've been scouting out the Palace of Justice," she replied. "I'm always eager to serve my people." Thinking quickly, she kicked over a farmer's vegetable stand in what she hoped appeared to be accidental. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Here, let me help you pick those up."

Bending over the ground, hoping to appear to be scooping up tomatoes, E quickly wrote in the dirty streets with her finger. _We're being watched._

Clopin noticed what she was doing in an instant. "You disobedient girl!" he hissed, stepping on her writing before it could be seen. "Haven't I told you not to put yourself in harm's way? Come!" Grabbing her wrist, he appeared to hurriedly drag her away. As they threaded through the streets and back alleys of Paris, E hoped that the palace guards would lose her in the crowd.

After several minutes of putting distance between themselves and the guards, Clopin quickly led E through a cramped tunnel to a secret room. The two of them had often hidden there when things in town started to turn ugly.

"Alright now." Clopin looked E squarely in the face, as best as he could in the dim light. "I need to know what happened with you last night. You weren't in your cot. I checked."

E believed him. Although she appreciated her older brother's concern for her, she sometimes resented it when it translated to nosiness and bossiness.

"Why, the judge asked me to come to his place and perform for him! Aren't you proud of my skills?"

Clopin exhaled slowly and loudly. "And you actually _went_?"

"Obviously," E replied curtly.

"Ohhhhhhhh Esmerelda. _Why?_"

"To prove to him that I'm not a coward. We both knew that his invitation to come and dance was a veiled threat.

"To learn more about him. Don't you think Frollo is a real paradox? Cold and solitary, but obsessed with me. Seeming to only value people by what they can do for him, yet he adopted a special needs child, Quasimodo. Devoutly religious, at the same time broken and depraved…but I believe that, deep down, he's _aware_ of his depravity. He wouldn't admit it, but I think he wishes…that he could change what he's become. I have to admit, I'm intrigued by him."

Clopin squeezed his face up in frustration. "Don't you realize that this is an incredibly dangerous game you are playing?"

"I realize," E answered calmly. "But don't _you_ realize what an opportunity that this is? You know that he has seen our people as the dregs of society, barely even human—but I suppose that it's not surprising that we appear as such to an outsider. But I think—if I keep seeing him and talking with him—I think he's realizing that he's wrong. He'll stop trying to drive us out! We'll finally have a home in Paris! Oh, Clopin, you know that we've wandered from place to place for generations, always poor, always unwanted, never a real chance to settle down, have schools for the children and hospitals for the sick. And I'm seeing the _one_ man in Paris who has the ability to change that."

"You are seeing the _one_ man in Paris who is as unfeeling as a brick wall, and who enjoys playing with his food before he kills it. E, I will _not_ allow you to do this." Clopin sighed loudly. "You said that he invited you to the palace under a pretense of having you dance for him. I highly doubt that you danced in that bathrobe. What happened?"

"I danced," E responded laconically. "And no, I didn't dance in this bathrobe." E slipped off her robe to reveal the red silk dress, hoping that the room was dim enough Clopin wouldn't notice the red marks scattered liberally over her chest and neck.

Even in the dim light, Clopin recognized the dress. "You had to wear THAT flashy thing?"

"I was dancing for the most influential man in Paris. What did you expect me to wear?"

"E," Clopin sighed, "let me put it this way. Judging from your attire, and the fact that you spent the night in that awful place, I have a funny feeling that the most influential man in Paris had you do more than just _dance_ for him. And that is _not_ ok."

F: Judge Claude Frollo signed his name at the bottom of the legal document. This was the fourth unfortunate wrongdoer he had locked up in the space of one morning, and he _still_ couldn't push the girl from his thoughts.

He waved his hand over the ink to dry it faster. _I'm the judge. I have served Paris well by faithfully preserving law and order using whatever means necessary. Why can't I preserve law and order in my own mind?_

What had gone wrong? He'd had a plan in place for the previous evening. Get the little troublemaker locked inside of his stone walls, erode her spirit as he had done to so many other bothersome people, then release her to her people as an ominous reminder of what happened to those who dared to defy the iron fist of Judge Claude Frollo.

He knew how to break spirits. That beautiful dancer who dared torment him would pay for her insolence with compound interest. Some cuts across her face, chest, and stomach would leave ugly scars and make it nearly impossible to make money dancing. She'd used to be a ravishing beauty; now she was but another walking testimony to the horrible fate of those townsfolk who dared to put a toe out of line.

The judge dropped his clenched fist on the table. What sort of monster would deface an impoverished girl who had done little worse than shoplift to keep herself warm and fed? Her older brother, Clopin, the gypsies' ringleader, was more culpable than she in stirring up riots. Frollo was the city's stern, faithful deliverer of justice. And torturing a girl to prove a point to her older brother was not _justice_. That was cruelty.

He glanced down at his hand, veins slowly becoming more prominent as the years went by. Though the harsh truth brought him no joy, he could not deny that he was a mortal man. One day, he would leave this world, and his immortal soul would be standing before the Judge of all judges, answering for everything he had done.

_I served you faithfully for years, my Lord. I maintained order in Paris; I guided people along the paths of righteousness; I never put a toe out of line_.

Except he _had_ put a toe out of line the previous night. Well, he'd put more than just a _toe_ where it shouldn't have been. And the _innocent until proven guilty_ schtick wouldn't work with an omnipotent ruler.

_Guilty_, the heavenly courts would resound. _Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!_

No, it couldn't be. Wasn't it written in the book of Genesis that man was not supposed to be alone? How could it be wrong to desire a companion?

Nonetheless, he couldn't deny that he had deviated from his original plan yesterday, and that was _not_ ok. What sort of Minister of Justice would me make, when he couldn't even stick to his own carefully laid plans?

A knock at the door interrupted his troubled musings. "Your Honor," the man said as the door opened, "I'm here to collect the—" The man went silent as he gazed upon the pile of unfinished paperwork on the judge's desk.

"Get out, you idiot," the judge spat. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

The door hurriedly slammed shut. "Don't go in there," the man's voice came through the door, slightly muffled. "He's in an ugly mood."

"What's new?" one of the palace guards responded dryly.

E: "You _will not_ go back to the Palace of Justice," Clopin hissed. "Understand?"

"I have to. It's the safest option," E replied, equally as firm. "The judge is expecting me. He said as much. I will add that he has sent those two guards to monitor me, and to make sure I'm not _blabbing_ about last night to the whole town. He knows fully well what he's done. If I _don't_ show up tonight, he will make the logical assumption that I've betrayed him. He will dismantle _every stone_ of Paris looking for me."

"By the stars, he _would_. He's a madman!" Clopin shouted. "As if looking for excuses to imprison, execute, and banish our people wasn't enough, now we can add _defiling my sister_ to that list! He's a monster, Esmerelda. I'm going to round up our people; we're leaving Paris _now_. No place within ten thousand miles of Judge Claude Frollo is safe for our people to live! We'll wander until we find someplace else to set up camp." Clopin spun around and began climbing back through the tunnel.

"No." E grabbed his shirt. "He'll just chase us. Let me go back. I think—I hope—that I can change his mind. Besides, I think it's better that I'm over there keeping an eye on him. If my plan fails, and he starts plotting something nasty, at least we'll _know_. And any time he spends watching me dance is time not spent locking people in prison. Don't you agree?"

"Esmerelda. As your older brother, your only family, and your protector, I am _not_ comfortable with you paying visits to some creepy old man who has taken an interest in you." E attempted to open her mouth, but Clopin kept talking over her. "Now I _know_ that you are grown up. I fully expected you to find love and start a family someday. But don't you realize that the judge is _old_? And creepy? And untrustworthy? And violent?"

"I think I am in a better position to assess his character than you are," E countered. "I know him better than you do."

Clopin balled his fists in frustration. "He's—he's _using_ you! Can't you see that? You're nothing but a pawn to him. What are you going to do if he asks you where to find the Court of Miracles, Esmerelda? Or something of a similar nature?"

"I can take care of myself. I'll be fine. You know I wouldn't betray us."

"You are _muleheaded_ and you're letting some monster do whatever he wants to you."

"On the contrary, I've invested my virginity in this, and you want me to stop my scheme _now_?"

Clopin pounded his forehead against the wall in frustration. He slumped in resignation. "Ok, E. I can tell that you're determined to follow this through to the bitter end. And I have to admit that you've made a point about keeping an eye on him to keep our people safe. I will allow you to do this—under one condition."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "You said that you're getting him to trust you. Even to the point of falling asleep with you next to him, even though that makes me sick just thinking about it. Esmerelda, I want you to promise me that you are going to kill him as soon as the opportunity presents itself."

"How? I mean, _think_ about it. What am I going to do, sneak a knife in under my clothes? He's going to expect me to undress, you do realize…"

"You're resourceful, I'm sure you can figure it out," Clopin urged. "And I don't believe this will be as difficult as you think. I expect you two will be alone; I highly doubt that he wants guards patrolling his bedroom door and stopping to listen in and perhaps figuring out that _you're_ in there with him."

There was a brief pause. "Esmerelda, promise me that your only motivation for returning to Judge Claude Frollo is to ultimately rid the world of that menace. Swear it! Swear you'll kill him!"

E took a deep breath. "I will kill Judge Claude Frollo. I swear it."

F: "We are expecting a special guest at the palace tonight," the judge lectured his guards. "She is a faithful employee of mine. A spy. You will treat her with the same dignity and respect as you would any other official who has visited me."

"Yes, Your Honor," came the toneless chorus. He had trained his men well.

"There will be no attempts at foolish impiety during her stay. She is here for business reasons and not for your entertainment. You know how I feel about prostitutes."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Excellent." Turning on his heel, his robes billowed behind him as he silently walked back to his office.

Sitting back in his cushioned seat, he lifted the remaining pile of papers to his face. He squinted and held them close, attempting to read them more clearly. _Ugh, don't tell me that I'm getting so old that my vision is beginning to go!_ Well, even if his eyesight was fading, glasses existed for a reason. Perhaps they would even make him appear more intelligent and scholarly.

He needed to be about his business. He wanted to have all of this paperwork finished before the girl showed up. Frantically he sifted through the parchment, sorting things into piles, scratching out this and adding in that.

The judge lost track of time. When he glanced out the window, the shadows were already looming long in front of the scarlet horizon. _She'll be here soon._ He shaved his face, combed his hair, and put on his expensive robe. After all, he was here for a business meeting. He needed to look the part.

He had carefully orchestrated the entire evening. He and Esmerelda were meeting in the dining hall and discussing the whereabouts of the gypsies over a meal. His guards would be there to watch, to see with their very own eyes that Esmerelda was a business contact and nothing more.

The two guards he had sent with E would be left out of the dining hall. He would interrogate them separately from E, to make sure that their stories matched each other's, and hers. If they had failed to do their duty, he must know.

Everything was going to go smoothly tonight. As fun as it had been, he was not going to slip up again. The entire purpose of tonight's meeting was to prove to everyone that he was _not_ sexually interested in Esmerelda. He wouldn't be in a room alone with her, at all—he mustn't give fate a good opportunity to send his train of thought flying from the rails again.

Patiently, forcing his anxiety down, he waited in the dining hall. At last, his aching spirit was freed from the torture of waiting when the great double doors creaked open. "Your Honor," the captain of the guard said, "the gypsy dancer Esmerelda."

E: Esmerelda hoped that her pounding heartbeat was not audible to every ear in the room. She'd prepared carefully for this meeting. The entire evening was going to go smoothly.

She had expected an interrogation. Accordingly, she had caught back up with the guards and carefully instructed them on the cover story they were to give. She fully expected their compliance, as their other option was to admit their failure and face the judge's wrath. Inwardly, the girl smirked. Ruling by fear came with its disadvantages.

She knew full well what she was headed into. The judge's _business_ was to interrogate and to sift through information to discern truth from falsehood. With his years of experience, he would be difficult to fool. But she had planned for this. No man could think properly when distracted, and she knew that his initial intentions last night definitely did _not_ involve a bed. Most likely, they had involved her death. But he'd gotten off track.

If he'd stumbled once, he might do it again. E had taken her bright green dress and deliberately slit the skirt halfway up her thigh. _That_ would give him something to worry about besides his carefully laid plans to trap her. Of course, she'd been sure to put on her cloak before Clopin could take notice of the slit dress. No need for him to know everything. She _was_ an adult, after all.

Carefully she drew dark lines around her green eyes, shaded around them with dark, smoky eyeshadow. Her natural beauty was already stunning, but when skillfully accentuated—why, King Louis himself would have proposed to her on the spot. Critically, she examined her reflection in a mirror. Nothing short of perfection would do. She was visiting the most influential man in Paris tonight; she needed to look the part. A gauzy scarf around her neck allowed her silhouette to be seen, but disguised all of the bite marks. Neither she—nor the judge, she expected—had any desire for those to be noticed.

When she arrived at the palace gates that evening, flanked by the two guards, the soldiers at the door had given her strange looks. "Is _this_ His Honor's secret agent?" one wondered.

"She's a gypsy! Look at the color of her skin! The judge hired _her_?" another wondered.

E stood up a little straighter. "I look forward to explaining to His Honor the warmth of welcome I received," she stated, more confidently than she felt.

The guard cleared his throat. "Right. This way, ma'am."

As they walked through the unwelcoming stone corridors, E overheads the soldiers whispering to one another. "The judge made really clear that she wasn't here as an entertainer. It makes me wonder…she must be really pretty."

"We'll soon see, won't we," another added. "She isn't going to eat dinner with him in that cloak, surely."

Dinner? That interested her. Sometimes, a good meal was hard to come by when you were a poor gypsy girl.

"I'm excited to see how she's dressed," a third guard remarked.

The judge's captain of the guard, Phoebus himself, was waiting outside the doors to the dining hall. He grinned at her. "Esmerelda?" he asked in surprise. "Is that you?"

"Yes," E replied.

"And to think that all this time, you were a spy. Who'd have guessed?" Phoebus opened the doors wide for her.

"Your Honor," Phoebus intoned, "the gypsy dancer Esmerelda."

F: At long last, she had come. The day had felt like an eternity to his restless spirit. Her cloak swirled around her as she walked, a new confidence blazing in her eyes. It made Frollo uncomfortable. She may be an honored guest, but he was still her master! Couldn't she learn that?

He gestured to the chair. "Sit." E complied, slipping off her cloak and handing it to a soldier.

Frollo examined her carefully. Oh, those _eyes_! Flawlessly shaded, matched perfectly with the green dress, smoldering with a fire that rivaled the passion engulfing the judge. He'd thought she was beautiful last night…but this?

And the skirt. Slit halfway up to her navel. Why did she have to egg him on in front of all the guards? Instantly, he regretted their presence. He regretted the entire plan. Why, oh why, had he decided to torment himself by deliberately placing the woman of his desires just out of his reach? This was going to be one of the longest evenings of his life.

"You may begin with your report," Frollo ordered curtly, somewhat relieved that the scandalous skirt was mostly hidden under the table. It made it easier to look at her eyes instead of other places—a necessary gesture, given that the guards were surely monitoring his every move.

Then again, her eyes were driving him just as mad as the skirt had.

"Unrest among the villagers on the south side. They're tired of paying taxes," E began.

"That is hardly news to me. Carry on." If he kept pushing, she would eventually run out of things to tell him that she expected he already knew.

"There's a few homeless men and women panhandling at the street corners," she continued.

"As always. What of Clopin, though? Do not forget that he is your special project."

Esmerelda's hands were in her lap, making her body language more difficult to read. "He is thoroughly unaware, Your Honor. In fact, he believes that I am working for _him_. He believes that I frequent the palace to spy on _you_ and report back to _him_, and is completely unaware that I am watching his every move."

Unease gnawed at the judge's weary, broken heart. For all he knew, she could very well be working for Clopin, and playing the judge for a fool. He looked forward to his conversation with the two guards. Absolutely, he must back-check everything Esmerelda told him.

"What did you tell Clopin that you learned from your visit yesterday?" Now for the moment of truth. The guards had been ordered to discreetly observe any conversation she had with the gypsy leader. If she had betrayed him, he would soon know.

"I told him that I learned you are much weaker than you let the public see. You are weary of fighting, aware that you are ageing, and very close to throwing in the towel altogether. I told him that you would never suspect me of spying on you—because you're completely blinded by your emotions—because you _fancy_ me."

It took every last fiber of willpower that Judge Claude Frollo possessed to keep from jumping across the table and strangling that impudent girl with his bare hands. How _dare_ she!

"You are a creative liar," he responded, begging Maria that his voice would not betray his flaming temper. He must not lose face in front of his men.

"Thank you, Your Honor." Her voice was cool and level.

_Sancta Maria Mater Dei!_ By the fires of Hell, the girl would pay for this later!

The judge was relieved when their conversation was interrupted by the maid bringing in the cauldron of hot soup. This interrogation was going very badly. The idea had been for _him_ to dominate _her_ and force some information from her about the gypsies' hideouts. Instead, she had him dangling from a string, jerking his emotions this way and that as he struggled desperately to maintain his footing.

"Hungry?" he asked her.

E: The soup smelled wonderful. E swallowed to keep herself from drooling.

So far, so good. She had the judge right where she wanted him: on the defensive. Inwardly, she smirked at the judge's furious reaction. "You are a creative liar," he forced out, tendons of his neck tightening into cords. She had coolly thanked him, deliberately rubbing it in. This was payback for the way he had toyed with her last night and this morning. _His_ turn to be played with!

He appeared relieved for this break in the conversation. E was disappointed to be interrupted when her scheme was working so well, but still she looked forward to the food.

Despite her hunger, she waited, stirring her soup, for the judge to taste it first. She wasn't sure that the food hadn't been drugged. And she didn't want to think about what might happen to her in this place should her wits become dulled.

"This is delicious," she said. "Thank you."

She thought of her friends back home, occasionally resorting to raiding garbage piles in search of something edible. Even during their better months, they didn't eat as well as she was tonight. The thought encouraged her to continue her dangerous game. Think of all the good that Frollo's wealth could do for her people! If only she could get him to see…

"My pleasure," the judge responded.

That could either have been casual conversation, or veiled statement that he intended to have another go at her tonight. Well, she wouldn't try to dissect his words right now. She still had an interrogation to carefully dodge her way through.

"Has Clopin decided where next to settle his gang? I know that they drift all over the city."

There came the question she had been dreading. The break in conversation that the food had brought about had given Claude a chance to recover his footing.

"Indeed they do. They have many small campouts and they're always moving. It makes them hard to pinpoint," Esmerelda dodged carefully.

"Which is where you come in," the judge continued.

"Exactly, Your Honor," E replied. After losing her initial head start, she decided her best bet was to appear submissive and obedient—especially with more than a dozen soldiers watching them both. Should things turn ugly, she would be very much outnumbered. "A few of them have been hiding out in the hay barns in the D'Arte farm—stealing his vegetables and eggs—but it's likely that they've moved by now." Not a lie, but she only divulged the information because she knew they had moved a few days ago.

"But their _headquarters_. The Court of Miracles. That is my main concern."

"Of course. I'm familiar with the place. I've been there. You get there through a confusing labyrinth that's teeming with booby traps, and there at the center a band of wild people who will fight like hornets defending their nest. Attacking the place would be an excellent way to drastically reduce the headcount among your soldiers. Of course…I can assure you that it takes great effort on our part to maintain our defenses." E tread carefully on these dangerous waters. The judge was nodding his head in agreement. She deliberately spooned more soup into her mouth to buy herself a few seconds.

"If you wanted to attempt an attack now, the best way would be through the secret tunnel hidden behind the loose stone of the third windmill of the D'Arte farm. It's the route that the people were using who were hiding in his hay barns." E kept herself calm and confident, knowing for a fact that this route would be heavily guarded. She and Clopin had agreed that this tunnel was the one she was going to unveil to Frollo and his men. Clopin would double the security.

"Of course, I fully expect it to be defended," she continued. Frollo nodded. "But as I've told you, I'm planting seeds of doubt in Clopin's mind. I am duping him into thinking that you are an incompetent old lunatic who should have retired years ago. Now, I wanted to make sure Clopin would really hate you, so I lied and said that you fancied me. And he was _furious_. He'll drop all of the defenses to storm the palace in full force. He wants to personally cut you into a million tiny pieces!"

"And you will make sure they have false information," Frollo continued. "And I will be waiting for them."

"Of course, Your Honor. Though I may have been born a gypsy, I am intelligent enough to throw my lot in with the winning side in this struggle." And thank God that Clopin couldn't hear those words. She'd have to scour her mouth out with soap and water after this!

"A wise decision, my faithful employee," the judge commended.

F: The judge did not allow his face to show the immense relief he felt. He'd barely managed to regain control of the conversation and save the evening. Now to interrogate the two guards he'd sent to monitor E.

"Well done, Esmerelda. You may return to your duties now. I will expect another report from you tomorrow evening."

"I will not disappoint, Your Honor." E got up to leave. "My cloak," she ordered the guard.

She was wrapped up in that overcoat much, much too quickly for Frollo's liking. He needed more time to examine that dress.

"Phoebus, show her out," the judge ordered, wishing that he'd been the one handing E her cloak and wrapping her up in it. And secretly getting his hands under the cloak.

He would just have to plan time for that later. Fact-checking E's story was the next priority.

"…the gypsies were in the D'Arte barn. They got there through the secret tunnel behind the loose stone of the third window," the second guard answered.

The court recorder's hands flew skillfully over the paper, writing down every word in shorthand.

"Her conversation with Clopin," Frollo pressed.

"Oh, yes. She told him that she's pulled the wool over your eyes real good. You think that she's just here to date you."

The judge wished that she'd used a different alibi, but he had to admit that it wasn't a bad one. If nothing else, it gave the two of them a cover story: they were faking a relationship for Clopin's sake. He also fully appreciated the fact that a lie that closely resembled the truth was difficult to ferret out in court. A blatant, poorly constructed lie was easy to expose.

"Clopin hates your guts ten times as much as he used to, now that his sister's involved."

Their stories were matching, despite the fact that he'd deliberately prevented the two guards from listening to E's report. Apparently, the guards had done their job. And E, despite her spunky nature, had realized that it was not wise to lie to a powerful public official.

The interrogation was soon finished, leaving the judge alone with his thoughts. Inside, he was shredded into a million tiny pieces, each one screaming out in the pain of being torn. His beautiful dancer, so close, yet so impossibly out of reach. Fighting down the fire burning inside of him, under the watchful eyes of his men. Esmerelda, aware of the professional demeanor he was required to maintain, flippantly poking fun at him. The evening had been torture.

Esmerelda would be long gone from the palace by now. It should have taken Phoebus mere minutes to show her out.

The soldiers, too, would be mostly settled down at this hour. Those who weren't sleeping would be patrolling the gates.

Silently as a cat, Frollo swept through the stone hallways to his bedroom. The door creaked open with a weary groan. He'd slept in this room for twenty years, yet tonight, it felt incredibly empty despite the furnishings. Chill pervaded the dormitory; the fire flickered low.

As the judge stirred the fire, flames spitting and crackling as he prodded them back to life, his tormented mind formed images in the scarlet blaze. The flames rippled like silk, silk folds of a dress. A red dress. The dress he'd pulled off of Esmerelda last night.

He closed his eyes in frustration. Even the fire looked like her! He must be going mad!

_It's my fault. It's my fault. It's all my fault._ Hadn't he read the first chapters of Genesis dozens of times? As soon as Adam and Eve tasted that fruit that they weren't allowed to touch, they were thrown from the garden. Never to be allowed to sample that fruit again. Forever to dream of it. Forever to mourn, with no hope of comfort. Forever to live in a cold, barren world.

An unfamiliar texture tangled around his fingers when he smoothed down his bedsheets. He lifted his hand to his face, drew closer to the fire for a better look…

It was a strand of hair. A long, black, curly strand of hair.

Esmerelda's hair.

Chill that had nothing to do with the cold night air bit deep into the judge's bones. For years, he'd enjoyed the challenge of coaxing the truth from a crime scene that had been tampered with. No matter how perfect the perpetrator had thought their crime, there was always some tiny mark left unnoticed. He'd sentenced many men and women to be burned at stake over damning evidence as small as a shirt button left laying in the dirt after a scuffle, a forced window that would never again shut quite perfectly no matter how hard the thief had tried…maybe even a strand of hair.

How many of Esmerelda's hairs, hidden as innocently as a rattlesnake in the underbrush, waited to strike him the moment they were discovered by the wrong set of eyes? How many other incriminating tidbits lurked in the palace, dormant and deadly?

The judge was treading a treacherous web, a web in which he had successfully snared and broken countless men and women. All had begun the walk confidently, all had seized up in horror as the trap closed around them, all had been delivered to their inevitable fate. Now, it was Frollo's turn.

But he had one advantage: he'd woven the web himself. He knew its hooks and snares. If he kept his wits about him, never stepped out of line, he knew how to navigate his way out alive.

And the first step was to inform his entire menagerie that his bedroom was strictly off limits. The room was not frequented, outside of the janitors cleaning periodically, but he must take no chances.

Phoebus should be in the guard's dormitory right now. If Frollo could explain the situation to him—explain that the judge was redecorating for the time being and didn't want anything disturbed—Phoebus would make sure that the message got to the entire guard. Fear lent speed to Frollo's steps as he whisked through the stone walkways.

He flung the doors to the guard's dormitory wide open. "Phoebus!" he shouted.

In response, a few guards stared up at him blankly. "Phoebus ain't here," one drawled idiotically.

"Then _where_ is he, you useless clod?" the judge spat.

"Don't—know—" squeaked the frightened guard.

"_Any_ of you!" the judge thundered, growing angrier by the second. As Captain, Phoebus was expected to be at the right places at the right times. Captains should be reliable, dammit! "_Where is Phoebus?_"

Wide-eyed and cowering, the guards shook their heads.

"Never mind, you idiots," the judge hissed. "I'll find him myself." He flung the doors closed with such strength that they almost rattled from their hinges. _Where was Phoebus?_ The judge had fired his former captain of the guard and only recently replaced him with Phoebus. Was Phoebus to prove an identical disappointment? Good help was infuriatingly impossible to find.

Fueled by temper, the judge swept through corridors. He had enough problems already; the last thing he needed was the task of finding a replacement for a useless captain!

At last, the familiar voice drifted through the rafters of a little-used room. That no-good captain was goofing off, and trying to hide it. That miserable fool. Nobody could hide anything from Judge Claude Frollo. He held perfectly still, trying to pinpoint the voice.

"I didn't know there was a room up here."

A muscle in Frollo's face twitched. That voice had _not_ belonged to Phoebus.

"There's a lot of secret passageways in this creepy old place." Phoebus' voice this time.

"Good to know. Thanks for the tour. I owe you, sun boy."

Veins in his temple throbbing, Frollo crawled silently up the wooden beams. Phoebus was not the only one aware of the many secret routes through the Palace of Justice.

"You don't have to owe me. You can repay me right now, sweetheart," Phoebus offered. "Did I mention that the outfit looks really great on you?"

"Yes, you did. Five times. But thanks anyway."

"Did I mention that it would look better on the floor?"

"Whoa whoa whoa, sun boy," E retorted. "Not that you aren't cute, but…I'm in enough hot water as it is. I'm already sleeping with one man that I'm not supposed to."

"What!? Who?" Phoebus demanded angrily, his body suddenly stiffening.

"I'm not…supposed…to tell," Esmeralda put up her hands, taking an uncertain step backward. "He and I would both be in deep trouble if anyone knew…" She stepped back again when Phoebus stepped forward.

"Look, babe, you can tell me. I'm the second to most powerful man in Paris! I won't let you get hurt for tattling on him, Esme. Who is it, some dirty swindler at the Boar's Head? One of the guards extorting you in return for protection from Frollo?"

"It's not quite that simple," she fumbled. Frollo looked down from his hiding place in the rafters, surveying the unease on the girl's face.

"Babe, I get that you're anxious, but how complicated can this be? Just give me a name, a description, and where he lives. I'm Frollo's captain of the guard, for heaven's sake! Nobody is going to question me!" His hand gripped the pommel of his sword. "Whoever it is, I'LL MAKE HIM PAY!"

Frollo had heard enough. Nimbly, he leapt from the rafters. The dagger dug in between the captain's ribs like an eagle's talons ripping into its kill, perfectly severing muscle and lungs alike.

"Send me the bill," Frollo said calmly.

Phoebus twisted so suddenly that the dagger's handle was wrenched from Frollo's hands. "_You_," Phoebus hissed as he turned to face his master, eyes widening in shock before narrowing in anger. "I'll—" Phoebus was interrupted by a rattling cough. Blood from his punctured lung gurgled in his throat, as he spat out a half-formed clot.

In an act of final desperation, Phoebus grabbed Esmerelda with his left hand, dagger in his right. The momentum threw both of them from the rafters into the yawning darkness below.

"No," Frollo choked. "Esmerelda!" His voice was raw. "_Esmerelda_!" The animalistic howl echoed through the great void that had swallowed his former captain and his one ray of sunshine alike.

The seconds dragged out like eons.

"I'm coming!" her voice echoed back.

"You're alive," Frollo choked.

"Trying—to—climb—" she panted. "Can't—see."

A hand, delicate as a rose petal but skilled as a master swordsman, grabbed the edge of the rafters. The judge's fingers closed around her slender wrist. "I'll pull you up," he whispered around the lump in his throat.

E: She grabbed hold of the judge's wrists with her other free hand, and felt herself dragged up onto the rafters. Heart still hammering, body shaking from the adrenaline crash, she folded willingly into his protecting arms.

Wild, terrified eyes met. Two shaken human beings drew closer to the one entity that could reassure them—each other.

Words failed Esmerelda. In seconds that had felt like hours, she'd wrestled free of Phoebus, caught hold of a wooden beam, and began the climb. She thanked God that adrenaline had taken over. Right now, she could throw up just looking down into the yawning blackness.

Her hands pressed to either side of his face, reassuring herself that he was there and she was still alive and safe. He echoed her movements, cupping her face with one hand, keeping the other firmly around her back.

Closing her eyes, she brushed her lips against his. He responded enthusiastically, sweeping her into the kiss with the gentle fierceness of building, barely-restrained passion.

The outside world no longer existed. E wrapped her arms around Claude's neck and kissed him, hard, willingly fueling his desire, basking in the warmth of the fire that burned within him. She rose to her knees, pressing her torso into those opulent robes, sealing her lips more tightly into his.

He pressed back, gently lifting her from her knees and guiding her to the floor. He lay on top of her, hands kneading at her prone form, hips straddling hers.

At last his lips separated from hers, remaining centimeters away. Esmerelda sucked in the air in huge gulps, still trembling beneath him.

"Smart girl," he whispered huskily. "One scandalous relationship is plenty."

E smiled up at him. "So it _is_ an official relationship, then. I'm glad you've confirmed that."

"Shh." Tingles crawled up her spine when the judge laid a finger to her lips. "You have the right to remain silent and anything you say can be used against you." Even in the dim light, E couldn't miss the faint twinkle in his eyes, the ghost of a genuine smile that played at his lips. _There's a shred of humanity left in him. I know it. I can see it._

"Besides, you know I am an honorable man. I simply do not believe in one-night stands. Therefore"—the smile fought its way to the surface—"I think I'm obliged to make this an ongoing affair, agree?"

She returned the smile. "Works for me. Although I'd like to point out, that even if no one ever comes up here, your bed is going to be much more comfortable than the floor."

"But of course." He began the climb down the support beams, E following him.

A gentle breeze of relief stirred E's thoughts. It hadn't been her wistful imagination playing tricks on her the night before; that heart that had been solid ice for twenty years was beginning to melt. She could see the change taking place, even within the past 24 hours.

E wondered, not for the first time, what life experiences could turn a human being into such a hard, bitter, lifeless shell. The judge was more than double her age. Surely, he had seen and done things that E had never even dreamed of.

He was wealthy; had it been inherited, or earned? And how had he grown up? He appeared to have no family whatsoever, outside of Quasimodo. E could not think of a single other human in Paris with the surname of Frollo. Yet, as is true of every human, he obviously had to have come from somewhere.

Once they had both returned safely to the ground, Claude gently scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the palace. E obligingly wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, relishing the warmth that seeped through his dark robes. For an older man, he was surprisingly fit; his arms were still steady around her several minutes later when they finally reached the bedroom door.

Claude locked the bedroom doors behind them, but E expected it was to keep any snoopers from getting in rather than to keep her from getting out. She slipped off her dress and burrowed down into the silken sheets. Such luxury, such comfort, it almost pricked her with guilt when she thought of her people's bare cots and sleeping bags.

_I should not feel guilty about enjoying this_, she justified herself. _I'm definitely paying a hefty price for these luxuries. I could have lost my life an hour ago when Phoebus threw me from the attic._

Digging her elbow into the soft mattress, resting her chin in her hand, E watched the judge hanging his robes up in the closet. By the light of the fireplace, she could make out something on his back.

Her emotions had been much too much of a blur for her to take notice of it last night, but there was most definitely something there. E squinted into the firelight. Was that a…_pentagram?_ Carved into the flesh of the same man who believed himself to be the most God-fearing being in all Paris?

He turned back to face her, hiding the mark from view as he climbed onto the bed. Undeterred, E slipped an arm under his and ran her hand down his back. The slightly raised edges of the scar could not hide from her attentive fingers.

_The plot thickens._ E knew better than to continue to palpate the scar. Any indication that she was investigating his unholy mark could easily stir his hair-trigger temper into a violent fury.

Fortunately for her, the judge did not appear to notice. Already he was happily tracing her petite form with his fingers. Again, E's flesh betrayed her. A soft whimper escaped her red lips as she instinctively snuggled closer to him.

"Mine," he purred in her ear, their bodies intertwining. "Mine. Mine. _Mine_."

F: Miracle of miracles, the judge had not been banished from Eden after all. Well, as the tantalizing fruit had not appeared to be his immediate undoing, would it really be so bad to have another taste?

Unfortunately for him, the respite was not to last. It seemed he had barely fallen asleep, E curled up in his arms, when a harsh, persistent knocking on the door thoughtlessly rattled his peaceful rest.

"If this is _not_ a dire emergency, you are in for the flogging of your LIFE," Frollo growled.

"Welp, it looks like he's alive," came the voice from behind the door.

"I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed," another voice remarked.

"I am very much alive," Frollo said loudly. "Which is more than will be true of you unless you immediately explain yourselves."

"There's a wild fiend loose in the castle! We're all in a panic!" a third voice shrieked.

"And by wild fiend, we mean someone _besides_ you," a fourth voice clarified.

"Thank you for that unnecessary explanation." Frollo's usual condescending disgust came naturally to him, even when partially asleep. Sancta Maria Mater Dei, just how many soldiers were on the other side of that door?! E had awakened, but wisely hadn't made a sound.

"That spy girl, Esmeralda, it turns out that she's been working for Clopin this entire time! She stabbed the captain! Marcus over here saw her do it!" Another guard.

"And I ran away as fast as I could and raised the alarm!" came another voice, probably Marcus. "I was afraid maybe she'd gotten you too! She got done with Phoebus and was climbing the walls, and I could have sworn I heard your voice up in the attic!"

"_No_," Frollo groaned weakly, sinking back onto the mattress. "Sancta Maria Mater Dei, no."

"She's _crazy_! We've scoured the palace and we can't find a trace of her! She's disappeared! She has to be a witch!" a panicked voice shrieked. "Hunt her down and burn her!"

"We have no idea where she is!" _Good_. "What are we supposed to do now!?"

"What you should do _now_," Frollo growled, "is to guard every entrance and exit, in case she tries to come back. Every last one of you, patrol outside. Not inside, _outside_. She obviously isn't inside the building, since you've already searched everywhere. Don't waste your energy guarding thin air."

"Well, we've searched everywhere but your room," an unhelpful guard pointed out. "She might be hiding behind a piece of furniture or something."

"She is _obviously_ not in my room, you bumbling buffoon." Disgust dripped from his words. "I've been in here alone, with the doors locked from the inside, for several hours. If your tongue serves no purpose other than to blurt out useless ideas, perhaps it should be cut out." _That_ spiteful put-down would spell doom for any scandalous ideas that the guards may have been entertaining. "Now, get to your posts and let me sleep."

Footsteps upon footsteps pattered across the floor for several minutes as the soldiers headed out. Finally, there was silence. But Claude was no fool. He slipped on a bathrobe and went and opened the doors just enough to see out. As he had anticipated, a few stragglers were still hanging around the stone corridor.

"In case you were wondering," he spoke to no one in particular, "times like these are when I am memorizing faces in preparation for my next 'random' selection of volunteers to be practice dummies during your next intruder drill."

The hallway was emptied before Claude could memorize anyone's face. He slammed the doors closed and locked them with a smug smile. Nobody, nobody got away with spying on Judge Claude Frollo.

"The hallway is clear," he sighed, dropping back onto the bed.

"That was too close," E said. "We're lucky that Marcus ran out of the room as soon as he saw Phoebus in the floor. Of course, he assumed I stabbed him, seeing as how Phoebus threw us both from the roof together, and I kicked him off me and he fell to the ground with a knife in him."

"And now we're accused of murder, as opposed to being accused of murder _and_ licentiousness, because he ran out of the room in time," Claude spat. "Well, I suppose we should count our blessings…right?"

"They hate me now." E's voice trembled. "They'll kill me sooner than look at me. And all because I said 'yes' when Phoebus offered me a tour."

The judge's heart sunk like a rock thrown into the sea. His beloved had done nothing wrong, _he'd_ wielded the knife, and now she was a hated criminal. Why couldn't things ever go according to plan?

"Esmerelda," he said gently, "look at me."

She complied.

The firelight reflected softly in her green eyes, caressed her skin with a gentle glow. Even with her smudged makeup that she'd forgotten to wash off, she was beautiful.

"Yes?" she offered, interrupting his thoughts.

"I'm the Minister of Justice, and it is my _duty_ to not let you be punished because I was required to dispose of yet another idiot." Claude surprised even himself with his words. He'd spent the past twenty years of his job eagerly exposing and punishing the guilty. It was the least he could do, after Jehan's killers got off scot-free and he'd been unable to do anything about it. The world was cruel, the world was wicked. In the beginning, each death warrant he'd signed had been personal: _This is for you, Jehan! And this! And this!_ It eventually dwindled to a cold satisfaction that he was doing his part to scour this world clean of its vermin, vermin that had left hideous scars that he bore on his soul to this day.

But for the first time ever, he'd seen his job in a new light: he was a defender of the innocent.

E: On cue, she'd turned to look at him. When he hadn't spoken immediately, she realized that he was too absorbed looking at her, and smiled a little. "Yes?" she prompted him gently.

"I'm the Minister of Justice, and it is my _duty_ to not let you be punished because I was required to dispose of yet another idiot."

_He's real. He's human. My intuition was right all along. And I'm legitimately falling in love with him._

And she'd promised Clopin she'd bring him the judge's head on a plate.

And Clopin, who shared her stubbornness, would do everything in his power to make sure that E made good on that promise.

Her thoughts quickly snapped back to the present. She must give him no indication that she was loyal to him with less than every fiber of her being. "Thank you," she murmured, leaning over to kiss him. Her conscience bit deep into her chest with stabbing, needle-like teeth. How could she have promised Clopin she would kill the very man who had just vowed to protect her?

"I'm just doing my job," Claude replied, unable to hide the soft sparkle in his eyes. He waved a scolding finger at her. "Don't you start thinking for a minute that I'm showing you any favoritism. That would be contrary to my sworn duty."

"Of course." E burrowed back down under the sheets. She crawled closer to the judge, slipping her hands under the bathrobe, pressing her palms to his chest, his heartbeat sending gentle, rhythmic tremors through her fingers.

His lips brushed her forehead as hands tangled in her raven hair. "I know where you can stay. Where you'll be safe," he whispered. "I'll get the guards settled back down."

E closed her eyes. The soft lullaby of his breathing soon had her fast asleep.

F: The judge blinked sleepily in the pale, early morning sunrise. Another day, another list of duties to perform. Out of habit, he rolled over to climb out of bed.

A thorn of shame dug into his heart when he saw the girl. He'd fallen. Again. And what with the soldiers assuming she had murdered Phoebus, it appeared that he'd dragged Esmerelda with him when he fell.

The judge hung his head. That forbidden fruit was so delicious, even after he'd sworn he'd learned his lesson, he'd clawed his way back for another taste. Even worse, he'd stabbed Phoebus for getting between him and Eden's gates.

What in Heaven's name was wrong with him? It made no sense. His youth had come and gone, countless females passing him unnoticed. Several women, many of them very attractive, had tried to flirt their way out of punishments during his many long years in office. Their efforts had only served to increase the judge's sense of smug authority over them and his cold satisfaction from sending them to the gallows despite their doomed pleading.

Long years of nearly-effortless celibacy notwithstanding, he'd suddenly fallen head over heels for Esmerelda, despite her utter contempt for him. The first time they met, she'd smacked his hat down over his face to get a laugh from the crowd. Any other human being would have served much-deserved time in the pillory for that one. Any human, that is, except Esmerelda.

Now, within the past forty-eight hours, he had fallen: from a lofty monument to virtue, to a dirty rat who had killed another man with his own hands all because of a woman. A woman who was young enough to be his daughter, had he married and had children in his 20's like most men did.

To top it all off, he'd _lied_. The judge reserved a special measure of spite for liars. Years of work had instilled deep contempt in him for those who believed that they could give _him,_ the most powerful man in Paris, false information and be believed. Yet, he himself had lied to the guards when he said that Esmerelda was just a spy who worked for him. He'd lied when he'd told off the guards for being stupid enough to imagine that E could have been in his bedroom. He'd lied to E when he promised that he could keep her safe. The belltower had worked for Quasi, but E had climbed out of there the last time. Granted, his soldiers were technically supposed to leave her alone if she remained inside of Notre Dame, but given the success of her previous stay there… He'd felt inclined to say _something_, to reassure her, but it only served to torment his soul.

All of these recent transgressions had one common denominator: Esmerelda. The Bible said that if your hand causes you to sin, you should cut it off. And if Esmerelda caused his fall from grace…

Poor thing, she didn't deserve any of this mess that they had both fallen into. Weights hung wearily from the judge's shoulders as the reality of the situation began to materialize. If this scene played to its bitter end, E would be jailed, tried, mocked, and ultimately fed to the fire. True, he could try to fight it, but at the end of the day it would be him standing alone against the institute of the laws of Paris and against a jeering crowd who had learned the real reason behind Esmerelda's palace visits. Was there _anything_ he could do to save her from her fate?

She lay there, sleeping so peacefully, blissfully unaware. Claude realized that he _could_ spare her, spare them both, from public humiliation and a slow, painful, publicized death. His hands inched towards her neck. She was fast asleep; she would never feel a thing.

_You're doing her a kindness_, he tried to console himself. _You know how the justice system works. The world is cruel; the world is wicked._

Tears stung his eyes. _Forgive me, Esmerelda._

She stirred and opened her eyes. Claude drew back. He'd been seconds too late.

Maybe it was just as well that fate had spared him the pain of making this agonizing choice.

The girl yawned, stretched, and rolled over. Emerald eyes opened in surprise when she noticed him.

"Esmerelda," he choked. "My love. My darling."

"Claude?" she responded softly. "You haven't been laying awake worrying, have you? …You have, haven't you."

His facial expression must have betrayed him. Surprise stung him as suddenly as a wasp underfoot when he realized that he'd displayed an emotion besides scorn, and another human being had recognized it.

"I've been…trying to determine the best way to handle this," he sighed. A mercy kill was not the answer. He _would_ find a way to rescue Esmerelda. He had to. He owed it to her, after getting her into this mess. "You can't stay in the Palace of Justice, clearly. Do you think you could stay in the belltower of Notre Dame, at least temporarily?"

E: She had been a little confused when she woke up. Where were all the people? Where were the wagons? Where was Djali?

Then Esmerelda saw the judge, and she remembered. Disgust squirmed in her stomach like an overgrown maggot. She was a traitor, a traitor to her people. Despite her best intentions, she'd ended up in bed with him _again_. What was wrong with her?

"Esmerelda," he whispered thickly. "My love. My darling." His face was heavy and drawn.

He had clearly woken up before she had, and something was obviously troubling him. "You haven't been laying awake worrying, have you?"

"I've been trying to determine the best way to handle this. You can't stay in the Palace of Justice, clearly. Do you think you could stay in the belltower of Notre Dame, at least temporarily?"

Shame, shame at her previous disgust, stabbed her heart. He obviously cared about her; was it so wrong to have feelings for him?

She considered his offer. She'd hidden in Notre Dame before, and then Quasi had helped her sneak out. Of course, Frollo was fully aware that she'd escaped his clutches the previous time. He'd probably triple the guard.

Either way, she couldn't stay where she was. "I'll stay in Notre Dame…temporarily." She insisted on subtly challenging his misconception that she was at his beck and call. "But how do you plan on getting me there? We'll be seen!"

"I think I have an idea, dear," he replied. "And I hope that I need not remind you that I expect your full cooperation."

Grr. He'd clearly noticed her subtle hint, and wasn't pleased.

"You look annoyed," the judge commented.

E decided against provoking a fight. "I am annoyed," she said, "with myself. Because I can't figure out what on earth I'm doing in your bed for the second night in a row. I thought I hated you!"

"Hatred and love are sisters, my dear," Claude commented with an air of experience. "And the opposite of them both is apathy." He slid a hand down her ribcage.

E twitched involuntarily, suppressing a giggle. "Stoppit. I'm ticklish."

"Oh, you _are_?" Claude asked with his characteristic devilish smirk. In a blink, he was on top of her, left arm pinning her to the mattress, right hand stroking her side.

Struggling was useless; he had pinned her well. Unable to get away, she attempted to scream out through her uncontrollable laughter. "That tickles AAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE! Stoppit! STOP!"

"You'll have to speak more clearly," Claude purred. "I can't understand you."

"STHAAAAAAAAP!" Her voice reached a pitch usually reserved for calling dogs.

Mercifully he let up. E sucked in air in huge gasps.

"You're fun," the judge remarked. "Especially when I have every last soldier patrolling outside of the palace, supposedly looking for you."

"You rascal." E smirked and reached up and tweaked his nose.

"Hmm, you must want more." Fingers crept up her ribcage. E jerked and giggled.

"My little bird. My flower. My precious dancer." E squirmed sinuously, drinking in the minister's soft, warm voice. She closed her eyes and sunk deeper into the heated passions that engulfed her.

Seduced. Seduced by her mortal enemy. But right now, this bizarre reality caused her no shame. Flinging all decorum to the winds, her hands subconsciously tugged at the ties of his bathrobe. Why had he fallen asleep in that silly thing?

"Good girl," he whispered, compliantly slipping out of the offending garment and tossing it in the floor.

Her fingers teased at the nape of his neck, slowly working their way down his spine. A soft, satisfied growl told Esmerelda that her gesture was warmly appreciated. Pale hands stroked her bronze skin, hidden under the bedcovers, eliciting a happy sigh.

Soft, damp lips pressed against her neck. "Oh, _Claude_," she moaned, still marveling that the man she'd once been taught to hate could awaken this spark within her. "Take me, I'm yours."

The judge needed no further coaxing. E happily followed his lead, bodies swaying together in an enraptured dance, moans and sighs intermingling in an ethereal duet. Judge Claude Frollo was the greatest thing that she never knew she needed. If Clopin couldn't see that, well, pox on him.

The tingling warmth persisted in her body even after the judge finally climbed off of her and crawled out of the bed. Her eyes followed him lazily as he stepped over to his wardrobe.

The pentagram was very much still there.

_Monster lines_. Quasi may not have had any of them, but Frollo definitely did.

He walked back to the bed, bent over her, and kissed her. "I'll be back," he whispered. "Stay here."

The doors closed softly behind him. Esmerelda pulled the sheets up to her neck. The bed was still very warm, and the room was cold, and she had nothing on. She'd lay there for a few more minutes…

E had no idea how much time had passed when she woke up for the second time that morning. She felt wonderful for having had the chance to rest. It dawned on her that she'd been given a golden opportunity to explore the minister's bedroom free from observation.

She headed for the closet first—it would be a good idea to get some clothing on. She filed through the soft fabric, finding a set of robes with a hood. She slipped the clothing on and pulled the hood up over her face. If anyone happened to see her, hopefully they would assume that she was the judge and not be suspicious.

E scurried around like a foraging squirrel. There was a shelf full of books, most of them written in Latin. The gypsy wished, not for the first time, that she'd had a better opportunity to get an education. It was difficult to consistently school the children when you were constantly on the move, trying to remain one step ahead of whatever authority figure was currently attempting to drive you out.

_I wonder what he'd think if I said I wanted to learn Latin_? She giggled a little at the thought. Most likely, he'd be more than a little surprised. Since when did a gypsy want to learn a skill besides picking pockets?

E stiffened a little. She could think of several faces and names who would most likely give up picking pockets if given an opportunity to learn an honest trade. If only someone would give her people a chance, instead of kicking them from place to place to place!

She glanced around the lavish furnishings in the room. Reverting to her old habits, she began wondering what could be easily stolen. Think of all the things her people needed!

No, she was a fool to even consider that. Rob the Minister of Justice? She'd be hanged in two seconds flat, regardless of how attractive she was. Nobody, nobody stole from the Minister of Justice.

Curiosity piquing her, E slipped one of the books from the shelf. It crackled slightly when she unfolded the browned pages, warning her to handle it carefully. Frollo would be furious if she had carelessly damaged his stuff.

Very gently, she smoothed out the pages. She took in the painted borders and the beautiful calligraphy, all done by hand. How many hours had been devoted to making this work of art?

E froze when the door rattled. She was going to be caught, and then all hell would break loose. Thoughts flashed through her brain. The judge's infamous temper could nearly send the whole of Paris scurrying for cover, and she was wearing his robes, after all. So long as whoever was at the door never saw her face…

"I'M READING. GO AWAY." Esmerelda dropped her voice several tones lower than normal and attempted to sound as grouchy as possible.

"Interesting," came the cool, level reply. "Not only is it a crime to impersonate a public official, but you are also doing an incredibly poor job."

Her face grew hot when she immediately recognized the voice. "_Claude_? …I—I was too scared to turn around. I thought you were a guard."

"I do not sound like that at all," he continued. (_Yes, you do_, E responded silently.) "And those robes are much too long for you. It surprises me that you haven't tripped on them."

F: His plan had been straightforward enough: ride to Notre Dame with Esmerelda flanking him, dressed in a soldier's uniform with a helmet that completely shielded her face. The townsfolk would assume that she was a bodyguard, and think nothing of it.

He'd worried over the size of the armor when he'd browsed the armory. E would require a smaller suit than the average man, but a suit that was too small wouldn't fasten up. And he could not afford to make multiple trips to the armory to exchange suits; the soldiers would definitely wonder what was going on. Of course, he dared not bring E down to the armory to try on armor. She would certainly be seen!

Finally forcing himself to make a choice, the judge headed back up to his dormitory. He expected that Esmerelda had fallen back asleep in his absence—good, let her rest. Perhaps she would have awoken by now, perhaps not. He opened the doors.

"I'M READING. GO AWAY." Esmerelda's voice was a pathetic, though amusing, facsimile of his own. Damn trickster was wearing his clothing, too. He questioned the wisdom of leaving her in his bedroom unobserved. No matter _how_ sexy she was, E was still Romani. A people notorious for their trickery, cleverness, and loyalty to only each other.

But the judge was a master at coolly manipulating his minions back into line. An offhand remark that E's deception had been seen right through, followed by a reminder that she was breaking the law—that should do the trick. Not only was she a criminal, but she was bad at committing crimes.

"Interesting," he mused. "Not only is it a crime to impersonate a public official, but you are also doing an incredibly poor job. I do not sound like that."

Turning around, E stammered that she'd guessed he was a guard and had been afraid to show her face. Frollo pushed back the robes' hood, revealing her blushing countenance.

The judge had to admit, she blushed very attractively. Red tinge perfectly highlighting her cheekbones…

_Snap out of it, idiot._ "This is the plan. We are riding to Notre Dame. You are going to wear a soldier's uniform so that the townsfolk will assume you are a bodyguard."

"Doesn't surprise me that the people are used to seeing you with a bodyguard," E remarked. "I wonder, how many assassination attempts have nearly ended your illustrious career?"

"More than one," Frollo replied coolly. "Despite the fact that every single perpetrator was publicly executed, to set an example for any townsfolk with delusions of heroism. Some people, I fear, cannot be rescued from their own stupidity."

His own words stung him more than a little. Every fiber of logic in his body declared that this relationship with Esmerelda was a terrible idea, yet he persisted in his iniquity. What on earth was wrong with him, that his actions stubbornly indicated that he placed a higher value on the girl's flesh and bone than on his reputation, his authority, and possibly his life?

It appeared that his spirit was attempting to compensate for decades of loneliness by obsessing over the girl—at least, that was the only explanation the minister could think of.

"But before we run out the door…are you hungry?" He pulled a loaf of bread, still warm, from a basket tucked away under his voluminous robes. The minister's own stomach was achingly empty, as he hadn't taken time to eat anything that morning. But instead of grabbing something to eat while he worked, he realized that E was probably hungry, too. She deserved some human consideration, especially after this mess he'd dragged her into.

Her face perked up when she smelled the bread. Putting the book she was holding back on the shelf, the girl hurried over to him, hitching up the long robes so she wouldn't trip over them.

E: When the minister ripped the bread in half, soft steam and delicious scents floated through the room. E's mouth watered, happily taking the piece of bread that was handed to her.

_He actually thought about me. Instead of dragging me out the door as quickly as possible._ Even as she mused, E knew it would require a herculean effort to get her clan to see Frollo as anything besides a heartless monster who fed off the misery of the condemned.

Of course, he had hardly been friendly towards her people—or towards anyone, for that matter. He had been a fair judge who treated everyone the same way: coldly. Small surprise that they viewed him as undeserving to be called a human being.

But E knew the Minister of Justice to be a much more complex person. He was intelligent, he was introverted, he liked to read, and his heart bore an incredible weight of agony. Only a very cruel past could have turned an ordinary human into someone so withdrawn, so cold, who lashed out in fear at anyone who got too close.

And he was _aware_ of what he'd become. E had grown up hearing countless bedtime stories from Clopin. Different places, different names, but the villains were always the same: selfish, brutal, and completely one-dimensional. Outside of "bad", the villains never had any genuine personality traits.

It aroused her curiosity. She longed to know more about the judge's history, his family of origin, his childhood, how he rose to his current position of authority, why he had such an arcane symbol cut into his back. Being no fool, the girl knew she would need to be careful with her questions, but she believed with patience he would eventually open up.

The bread, albeit delicious, was gone all too soon. The suit of armor rattled hideously when Frollo held it up. It looked much less comfortable than her borrowed finery, but she had little choice.

"I'll help you get it fastened." Frollo's words were more of a command to hurry up and get changed than an offer of assistance. Unenthusiastically, she slipped out of the soft robes and stepped into undergarments that would provide a layer between her skin and the metal.

Then came the chain mail shirt. Already the armor weighed more than she would have liked; she did not look forward to wearing the full suit. She stepped into boots and Claude carefully buckled the metal plates over her legs. Very, very carefully buckled them, hands lingering on her, as if imaging the undergarments weren't there. E somehow doubted that getting armored up involved this much touching, but she saw no need to comment.

The real fun came when the judge tried to strap down the breastplate. The armor had been obviously been designed for a man, not a woman, and Claude struggled to fasten it to the backplate properly. The end result was neither very attractive nor very comfortable.

"I can barely breathe in this," E grumbled.

"Fortunately for you, no physical activity is expected on your part. Just try not to fall off the horse."

"Note to self: do not fall off horse," E repeated grouchily. At least she had ridden horseback a few times before and sort of knew what to do.

The helmet was heavy and somewhat obstructed her field of vision. Already, the girl was uncomfortably warm. She tried to take a step forward and almost slipped—her bare feet had better traction than the slick soles of the boots.

"Better start praying, holy man," E snapped.

"I'm disappointed," Claude responded. "My guards wear armor all of the time, and I had thought you to be smarter than they are. Was I wrong?"

E stuck out her tongue in response to the veiled taunt. Concealing her face did have its advantages. "Their armor also fits better, but I'll learn as I go."

"Good." He headed out the door and she followed.

_Clatter, rattle, crash._ For a woman trained in stealth, the noisy metal was a nuisance. She hated the attention that she was surely drawing to herself, but she reassured herself that her face was hidden.

F: The judge once prided himself on his skill at uncovering wrongdoers trying to get away with all sorts of things. He'd thought himself exceptionally intelligent for catching crooks despite their plans.

Now, he felt much less self-satisfaction. Perhaps the criminals always failed because getting away with things was so damn _hard_. Mentally Frollo cursed himself, wishing that he had figured in the fact that this was the girl's first time in a suit and she would not maneuver easily. She may have been very athletic, but she was unaccustomed to the constraining metal.

_This was a rotten idea_, he growled inwardly when E tripped and fell going down a flight of stairs. A soldier walking up the stairs laughed. "Clumsy boy!" the soldier shouted.

Fortunately for the judge, years of experience had honed his lightning-fast reflexes. He hooked his heel behind that of the soldier and pulled hard. The man lost his footing and fell to the stairs with a loud crash of metal plates.

"Speak for yourself, oaf," Claude spat. Noticing the grimy streaks left on the armor from scraping against the dirty stairs, he added, "And polish your armor! You're filthy!"

E had regained her footing by this point. The armor would have prevented her from getting hurt when she fell. They continued down the stairs, Claude fervently hoping that he could bully his way through any more incidents that might arise.

They made it to the stables without further incident, until E almost fell getting on a horse. Instinctively, the judge caught her and helped her up. Then, he realized that the other soldiers in the stable had noticed him actually being _nice_ to someone, and would wonder why he was behaving so strangely.

"You are lucky that I am in a good mood," he said to Esmerelda, for the soldiers' benefit.

Inwardly he grimaced when a soldier stepped forward. "Your Honor, since you're feeling good today, I wondered if we could talk about—"

"Stop ruining my good mood," Claude snarled. The man shuffled back. Claude overheard one of the men snickering at the poor fool who had opened his mouth. "The judge is _never_ in a good mood, dummy."

The judge dug his heels into his horse's sides. Sancta Maria Mater Dei, he couldn't get to Notre Dame quickly enough!

The horse's hooves clattered on the cobblestone streets of Paris. The minister checked over his shoulder periodically to ensure that the troublesome girl was still behind him.

She was.

He turned back to watch where he was headed. Fortunately for him, the citizens of Paris knew to stay well out of their minister's way.

A shuddering crash made his heart almost stop. Swinging his horse around, he saw E in the dirt and the horse with rotten tomato juice dripping down its flank.

"WHO THREW A TOMATO AT THE HORSE?!" the judge thundered, glaring at a group of children playing in the street.

The children of Paris were vile, stupid, disgusting, disrespectful creatures, just like their parents. Being a loner, the idea of having children of his own had never even crossed the judge's mind. He'd more or less had his hand forced with Quasi. He'd found the baby abandoned at the church doorstep, almost stepped on it, and picked up to move it. The archdeacon, who always showed up at the most inconvenient of times, happened to pop up and enthuse over how generous it was of Judge Claude Frollo to adopt an orphan, and call everyone else over to come see.

By that point, it was a little too late to explain the real reason he was holding the baby. To this day, Claude had never quite forgiven the archdeacon.

Raising Quasi hadn't been as awful as the judge had initially feared, but that fact did not increase his fondness for the tomato-throwing brats. "It's always a pleasure to hear a juvenile case," the judge continued. "So impressionable and foolish at that age." The children scurried for cover as the judge stalled for time. Esmerelda was trying to get back on the horse.

"The jails will hold you as well as they hold any adult," he threatened.

E got back onto the horse, but Claude didn't dare relax until the both of them were inside the cathedral belltower. The girl immediately pulled off her gauntlets and began tugging at her armor buckles.

"I can help you with that," the judge offered.

"Your attempt at chivalry fooled no one," she responded curtly.

"Was that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" he pressed, undeterred.

"You can help me," she muttered. "I want out of this thing as quickly as possible."

The girl was flushed and sweaty, Claude noticed. Wearing that armor in the heat must have been uncomfortable.

Effort deserved acknowledgement. "You did well for your first time wearing armor," he said. "I know it wasn't easy, but you made it work. Thank you."

Esmerelda exhaled, and smiled faintly at him. "Thanks for keeping me safe. Now, get to work clearing the air so I won't be stuck here forever." She hooked her arms around his neck. "After all, gypsies don't do well inside stone walls."

The nerve of that girl, telling him what to do! "You impudent little—" the judge began, barely managing to look into her beautiful eyes without losing his focus.

Red lips closed over his, effectively cutting off his scolding. Iron-fisted resolve disobediently melted like butter. The judge wrapped his arms tightly around his precious gem, lifting her delicate feet from the wooden floor of the belltower. Her back arched obligingly under his hand as her fingers teased at his hair. Frollo was completely at the mercy of his inhuman obsession.

Fingernails raked down his neck, stirring that familiar aching back to life. Unconsciously, a soft moan rose from his chest as he kissed her harder.

At some point, the minister became aware that his arms were growing tired of supporting the girl's weight. Gently he sank to the floor, pulling her into his lap. She rested her head on his collarbone as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. He lightly brushed his fingers over her neck, smiling a little when he felt her pulse.

The thumping of feet and creaking of wooden planks caught his attention. _Quasimodo_. Hurriedly, the minister pushed Esmerelda to the side and stood up. Nobody, not even the boy, must be given any indication that Esmerelda was anything more than an acquaintance. Gossip spread like wildfire.

"Master," Quasi greeted him. The boy suddenly noticed the dancer. "Miss E! You came back!" He dashed forward and grabbed her wrist. "Miss E, let's have a tea party with the gargoyles!"

Ordinary children bonded with stuffed animals. The minister had the great annoyance of a child who chose instead to bond with cold stone blocks. If he'd had it to do over, he'd have removed the statues and given the boy a teddy bear.

E: "I missed you!" Quasi shrieked excitedly, dragging Esmerelda so eagerly that she almost tripped and fell. "You need to see Sarah now that I polished her. She's shiny!"

"I'm guessing Sarah is one of the bells?" E asked.

"Yeah!" Quasi released her wrist and scooped up the gargoyles. "Let's sit over here! Here's our teakettle," he explained, dropping a rock in the floor. "Here's the cookies." The excited boy gathered up a few stray leaves that had blown into the tower and put them with the rock.

E couldn't help but smile. Quasi was unique and absolutely adorable. She wondered, not for the first time, how anyone as silent and stern as the judge could have raised anyone as bubbly as Quasi.

_Nature won out over nurture, I suppose._ The thought brought her the realization that it was difficult to imagine Frollo nurturing anything, and she swallowed a giggle.

Ever insightful, E saw an opportunity to learn more about the judge from a third party who knew him well. "Quasi, what is your master like?" she asked.

"He is good," Quasi responded. "He feeds me. He gives me clothing. He lets me stay here. He teaches me. He gives me wood blocks to carve."

"Is he ever…_harsh_ to you?" E pressed.

"Oh no no! Not at all!" Quasi assured her wholeheartedly.

"The festival of fools," Esmeralda pressed, finding it impossible to believe that anyone could have seen the wheel incident as anything other than mistreatment.

"Yes. I disobeyed. I am supposed to stay in Notre Dame because bad things happen when I get out. Master told Phoebus not to rescue me. He told me that afternoon that I needed to learn to stop being so careless, that he won't always be around to protect me. That's why he ignored me. So I would learn, now, before I get into trouble and Master isn't there to rescue me." Quasi rested his chin on his hands. "Master cares for me deeply. It bothers me, I wonder how much time he has left. He's sixty-two…" Quasi began thoughtfully counting on his fingers. "He will die of old age, and I will have no protector." The boy began to sob.

Esmeralda leaned forward and touched his shoulder. "Quasi," she said gently, "you don't need—"

She was about to say "a protector", but Quasi interrupted her. "You're right!" he shouted. "After Master is gone, _you_ can take care of me." Smiling jubilantly, he embraced the girl so eagerly that she was lifted from the floor. "You are the only other person who isn't afraid of my face!"

"Quasi, you are so much more than just a face." E sat down, legs crossed.

"Did Master bring you back?" Quasi asked, changing the subject. Talking about his face seemed to have made him uncomfortable.

"Yes," E responded, deliberately careful with how much information she gave.

"I'm glad. I missed you. Master is good, but you smile and he does not." Quasi wrapped her up in a bear hug. "Please don't leave again. Please."

Those huge blue eyes tugged at the dancer's heartstrings. The first time she had escaped the Notre Dame cathedral, Frollo had been her primary focus. _Great, I'm stuck under the same roof with some creep who keeps hitting on me. Gotta get out._ She had barely given Quasi a thought. Now, she realized how much her presence had meant to the boy. He probably did not have very many visitors.

"You don't have to live inside stone walls," Quasi continued. "I know you do not like stone walls. You can live up here, in wooden beams and open air."

E's heart melted. Quasi remembered her well.

"What happened last time?" Quasi asked. "You said something about you thought Master was horrible. Why are you back?"

"Because I've been framed for something I didn't do. Your master is letting me stay here for my own safety while he fights this legal battle on my behalf."

Quasi grinned triumphantly. "See, I told you. Master is nice. He is helping you."

Was he genuinely helping her, or primarily controlling her? Granted, he'd tried to hide her and promised that he'd clear her name. He also had her in a place where she couldn't talk to her kinfolk and couldn't stir up trouble on the streets.

E thought of Clopin and swallowed hard. She had never, ever, intended to betray her family. She was _advocating_ for them, dammit! But Clopin hadn't seen it that way. He made it very clear that there was only one reason she was allowed to come within 500 feet of the judge: she would have to kill him.

And Clopin would assuredly wonder what was going on when she had not been seen for a few days and the judge was obviously not dead. Clopin would investigate.

Tears stung her emerald eyes. She was trapped in a horrible predicament.

Large, calloused hands took her delicate ones. "Miss E, why are you upset?"

"My family," she said. "My brother and I had a disagreement."

"Oh." Quasi looked around. "You disagree with your family?"

"Yes."

"Master and I never disagree on anything," Quasi marveled, confused.

"That's because you do everything he says," E grumbled.

"Of course. Master is always right. _Always_." Quasi nodded his head confidently.

"And who told you that?" E had a feeling that she already knew the answer to that one.

"Master did."

_Yep, that was an easy guess._

"You want to play tea party with the gargoyles now? I will make you happy instead of crying," Quasi offered hopefully.

E smiled a little through her tears. "Sure, Quasi."

F: The judge had returned to the Palace of Justice and barely had time to dismount his horse his horse before a guard approached him. "The girl never came back, Your Honor. We watched!"

"She's back out on the streets, then," Frollo said.

"We'll get her for you, Your Honor," the guard offered eagerly, probably trying to curry favor. "She's a traitor! She needs to be burned!"

"Exactly. I tolerate deceit from no one." Claude's expression hardened. "That includes you. You will bring me the girl _alive_. Do not disobey me."

The minister dispatched the majority of his soldiers to scour the streets of Paris. A firm believer in efficiency, the judge was killing three birds with one stone. He was demonstrating to the gypsies that he did not know where Esmerelda was; he was demonstrating to his men that Esmerelda was as subject to his ruthless justice as everyone else; and he was leading his men off on a false trail to keep Esmerelda safe.

By evening, the entire town was in a stir. As Frollo rode through the streets, he heard their excited banter. "The dancer stabbed the judge's captain of the guard!" "Goodness, I'd hate to be in her sandals when Frollo catches her. He's ruthless." "And he wants her _alive_, at all costs! I wonder why?"

The crowd chattered across his entire trip to Notre Dame. Frollo was relieved to step inside of the silent cathedral. Silently as a cat, he climbed the familiar staircase to the belltower.

He opened the door at the top of the staircase to see Quasi and E painting and chattering away. Quasi turned around immediately at the sound of the creaking hinges. "Master!"

"Good evening, Quasimodo. It seems you have had an exciting day."

"Yes, Master." The boy's face displayed more eagerness than the minister had seen in a very long time. "Miss E is very nice. Can she stay? Please? _Please_? I will be extra good!"

"She is staying here for the time being."

"YESSSSSSSSSSS!" Quasi squealed. "Oh thank you, Master!" The boy flung his arms around the minister's waist. Claude blinked in surprise, then patted the boy on the head. Quasi was exuberant, but he usually wasn't _this_ excited…maybe the boy really didn't get enough visitors. Perhaps E's presence was a good thing in more ways than one.

He heard E giggle from beside Quasi's carving bench. She was smiling at them both. "Claude, you might have more dad skills than I would have originally guessed."

"I try," he responded, feeling slightly and inexplicably uncomfortable at her words.

"Quasi, can I get a hug too?" she asked. The boy eagerly complied.

"Quasi, I am glad that you have enjoyed your day. Now it is your bedtime." Even after getting a surprise hug, the judge was still his practical self.

"Ok. I say my prayers. Our Father, who makes art in Heaven, hollowed out be thy name…"

"You're getting confused again," Frollo interrupted. Quasi deflated a little. "Sorry, Master. Can you help me please?"

E was smiling broadly at them both. _She thinks this is cute_. Frollo could not explain why his face felt slightly warm, but he did not wish to linger on that thought. "Follow me." He knelt down. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name."

"Hallowed be Thy Name," Quasi echoed.

"Thy Kingdom come…" Frollo thought he heard the girl's footsteps.

"Thy will be done," Quasi continued.

"On Earth as it is in Heaven." E's voice echoed his own. He glanced over and saw her kneeling next to him.

"Give us this day our daily bread." Before the minister could get further, Quasi interrupted him. "Let's all hold hands," the boy said brightly. Hands reached for the ministers' on either side of him. Without comment, he closed one hand around Quasi's thick fingers and the other over Esmerelda's soft, delicate hand. "And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." Three voices prayed in unison now.

"And lead us not into temptation"—well, THAT had certainly worked well—"but deliver us from evil." Claude lifted his hands, taking theirs with him. "For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory."

"Amen!" Quasi shouted, his voice echoing in the tower.

"Amen," Esmerelda added with a soft smile.

"Amen," the judge whispered. He dropped their hands and rose to his feet.

"Master, is Miss E going to sleep up here? Please? I want her to tell me a bedtime story."

"No."

Quasi's disappointment showed, but he silently and obediently headed to his cot. The judge had taken great care to impress upon the boy that negotiating, begging, and repeating the request to Judge Claude Frollo would accomplish absolutely nothing.

"I'll tell you a story tomorrow, Quasi," E offered gently.

"Thanks," Quasi whispered, gazing at the girl with adoring blue eyes.

The judge had not realized the full extent to which Quasi had bonded with the girl. It was little surprise that he had helped sneak Esmerelda out of Notre Dame.

There was no forcing that girl to comply with anything or anyone. The only way to keep her in Notre Dame was to help her decide that she _wanted_ to stay there.

"Come with me." The minister gently tugged at Esmerelda's sleeve. She followed him out of the door, Quasi's huge eyes lingering on them both.

Claude locked the belltower door behind them. "I'm a little surprised that you're back so soon," E commented as they descended the stairs. "I had expected you would be too worried about giving us away to spend much time around Notre Dame."

"Everyone knows that I spend a substantial amount of time in the cathedral," he responded.

"It's so quiet and peaceful in here. And beautiful," E added. Emerald eyes looked deep into his gray ones. "You must find it very comforting."

"I do." The judge kept his response terse; the girl was too bold with her comments for his liking.

She looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you have a scar on your back?"

_Sancta Maria Mater Dei!_ The judge had deliberately tried to forget about the damn thing. This produced the unfortunate result that he'd never thought about Esmerelda seeing it when he undressed.

Covering up those skeletons in the closet was damn near impossible. The judge had always derived great pleasure from the looks of horror on defendants' faces when he pointed out to them all of the little pieces of incriminating evidence that they had never thought about. It sickened him to realize that now _he_ sat helpless in the defendant's chair, cursing himself for the things he'd overlooked that now seemed glaringly obvious.

"It's very possible that I have scars on my back. I had smallpox as a child."

Esmerelda took the hint that further questions were not welcome, but the cat was already out of the bag. She had seen the pentagram and wasn't about to forget it.

"Quasi seemed very excited to see you," the judge changed the subject.

"He did," E agreed. "He didn't want me to leave the first time I stayed here."

"Truthfully," Frollo added, "neither did I. I hadn't even had a chance to talk with you. I _tried_, but you hit me."

"I _hit_ you," Esmerelda clarified, "because you were totally invading my personal space."

"Yeah…I was." Frollo grinned sheepishly. "I was getting too excited." _Wait, why am I displaying emotion? What's wrong with me?!_

"I have that effect on people," E responded with a teasing grin.

"That does not change the fact that it is a crime to hit a public official." Frollo's voice was cool, but something warm sparked inside of him. "But I am a generous man. My duty is to instruct, not to punish. Let us try that again, this time without you hitting the public official." Grinning, he wrapped a hand around her neck, pressing his face into her hair.

Esmerelda didn't struggle against his touch. Now _this_ was more like it, his precious little doll lying complacent in his arms as he toyed with her. Who knew, Esmerelda _could_ be taught.

Her arm wrapped around his waist, gripping his robes, as she pushed back into him. The monster in the judge's chest purred happily as his fingers caressed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder.

With a sudden movement, the girl bent forward, flipping him over her back and flinging him to the stone floor of the cathedral. Claude blinked, momentarily stunned. Gorgeous emerald eyes smiled down on him, falsely apologetic. "I suppose I should have warned you, Clopin coached me in the martial arts for several years. He wanted me to able to protect myself, you know."

The judge's incredulous brain struggled to process what had just happened to him. "Why you little—"

"I didn't hit you," E pointed out. "Did I behave correctly this time, O Exalted One?"

E wasn't the only one who had self-defense training. Regaining his bearings, he grabbed her by the ankle (she had such perfect, slender, delicate ankles, but that was beside the point) and pushed his elbow into the bend of her knee. She crumpled to the floor.

Claude pounced, brushing his lips to her ear. "Careful what you wish for," he purred.

She turned to face him, eyes sparkling. "Good. I love a challenge." Her body twisted rapidly, rolling away from him and back onto her feet in a practiced maneuver. She had the advantage of youth, for sure, but Claude was experienced. He grabbed her ankle again, flinging her to the floor. Wrapping his legs over her torso to pin her, he pulled one arm over her kneecap and flexed her foot back towards her body with his other hand.

Esmerelda twitched and whimpered with every teasing push of her knee and foot in the opposite direction from which they were designed to move. "For such a proper man, you fight _dirty_."

"This is just a…a _submission_ hold, dear. This isn't dirty."

He should have left it at that, but her derisive snort goaded him on. "_This_ is what dirty looks like," he added, yanking her in close so he could inch his fingers up her skirt.

She kicked him in the head with her other foot, her giggling almost disguising the footsteps from the other side of the room. Immediately on the alert, the judge released her and sat up.

It was the Archdeacon. Bother that old fool, he was always showing up at the most inconvenient of times. "What on earth is going on here?" the archdeacon asked.

"We are merely practicing self-defense maneuvers," Frollo replied coolly, grateful for his many years of experience at forcing down his emotions. "This young lady, knowing my years of experience in defending myself from assassination attempts, asked if I could teach her how to protect herself."

Esmerelda, who had also sat up, whacked her elbow into his jaw. "That was not necessary," he commented calmly.

"I would not have expected such a deceitful response from the man whose civil duty is to uphold the law." The archdeacon's voice cut Frollo to the bone. To his horror, monks began filing solemnly through the door. "I saw what happened last time you thought you were alone in the cathedral with Esmerelda. I was afraid to say anything, but when I saw it happening again, I went and found all of the monks and brought them here so they could see the two-faced monster you are."

Frollo swallowed. "What do you mean by 'thought I was alone in the cathedral with Esmerelda'?"

"You never noticed me. _You_ were much too preoccupied. You were trying to cozy up to her, and she punched you. You walked off. Esmerelda came over and spoke with me after that."

Frollo made no response.

"Am I right?"

Frollo wasn't stupid. "I will not answer any questions," he replied calmly. "I want to speak to a lawyer."

The archdeacon scowled. "And speak to a lawyer you will." More and more people poured in through the cathedral. "Half of the town is here. I told some of the monks to go and spread the word."

"It is _your_ turn to be tried before the court of law, Your…Honor." The archdeacon spat the last word with undisguised contempt.


	4. Chapter 4

E: "Scandal!" the crowd shrieked in delight. "Scandal! Scandal! Scandal!"

As more voices joined the chant, Esmerelda flattened herself and snuck under a church pew. Very slowly, she began to inch towards the door flat on her stomach. Her body first ached from the cold stone floor, but soon went completely numb.

"YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY WRONG ABOUT ME." Claude's voice thundered in the huge open space. "MY CONSCIENCE IS CLEAR!"

"Scan-dal! Scan-dal! Scan-dal!" The church throbbed with the roar of chanting voices. Esmerelda's head ached by the time she made it to the exit.

Unfortunately, she did not find the escape she needed outside of the cathedral doors. It took mere seconds for one of her kinfolk to recognize her. "Look, it's the judge's little pet," he sneered.

"I am NOBODY'S little pet!" Esmerelda shouted.

"Tell me, what's under those robes? You must really enjoy seeing saggy old skin." Another taunt.

"Is he sixty-two or sixty-three? I forget."

"Does he have you tie his shoes for him since he's getting too old to bend over?"

Esmerelda looked for an exit, but the crowd hemmed in around her; there was nowhere really to run. "Concubine!" a voice howled, and a rotten tomato splattered on her dress.

"Kept girl! Dancing doll!" A rotten egg and a squishy melon hit her.

"What's that on her neck? Hickeys?" _Damn, I should have found a scarf after I lost that horrid armor. _

One voice rose above the crowd. "Quiet down, everyone!" E recognized it as one of her kinfolk. "Stop making fun of her."

Was someone finally defending her? E scanned the crowd for the face.

"She's just showing us how good she is at her job," the voice went on. "She seduced the _judge_!" The crowd howled with laughter.

No, nobody was defending her, just mocking her.

"I am your princess!" Esmerelda shouted. "Is this how you treat me?"

"You're sleeping with our mortal enemy," a gypsy snarled back. "Is this how you treat _us_? Traitor!"

"I'm _helping_ you!" Esmerelda's anger lent force to her words. "Didn't Clopin explain?"

"He explained that you were going to _kill the judge_. And you have inexplicably failed to do your one job." Her family's faces screwed up in anger in disgust, as they picked up stones to throw at her.

Hot tears ran down the girl's cheeks as she tore through the crowd, ignoring the various objects thrown at her. She was now an outcast of the outcasts, disowned by her own family, and all because she had refused to kill her lover.

Bruised, bleeding, aching, dirty, and breathless, E finally reached the edges of the city, catcalls still ringing in her ears. She collapsed to the ground, curled up in a fetal position, and wept bitterly.

Her own people had thrown her out. The people that she ate with, lived next door to, talked with, exchanged favors with, that stood up for her and she for them—all of them now acted as though they didn't know her. All because she'd fallen in love with someone who was, in their eyes, the wrong man.

E thought back to those heart-pounding, shivering, exhilarating few minutes laying on that cold stone altar. The little voice had shrieked faintly inside of her head, "You will be cast out for this! You will lose everyone you ever knew and cared for!" Caught up in the heat of the moment, that voice had fallen on willfully deaf ears.

Esmerelda's heart was torn in two. She loved her clan. A month ago, any of them would have done most anything for her, and she for them. So many memories, so many friendships, all shattered in a matter of minutes when word got out that Clopin's younger sister was having a scandalous relationship with Judge Claude Frollo.

A sob choked her. She and Claude hadn't even been _doing_ anything for the archdeacon to see! They were wrestling in the floor, dammit! It wasn't like they were _naked_.

Clopin had filled in the blanks for them, then. Her older brother, her protector, the closest thing she had to parents, had spilled her secret when she had failed to keep her promise to him.

_How could you, Clopin?_ Tears streaked her grimy face. _I'm your only family!_

If only she could have fallen in love with one of her people. Her people would think her a hero for refusing to be manipulated into killing him! But no, she'd fallen for the judge, and now she was a traitor.

_How could you, Clopin? How could you order me to kill the man I love? How could you drive out your own sister for refusing to do your dirty work?_

A small puddle formed beside her face, from her many tears. She begged the angel of death to take pity on her.

Esmerelda lost track of time. She lost track of the world going on around her, of pedestrians and wagons and horses passing by. She was aware at some point of hands gently shaking her. "Esmerelda? Are you ok?"

Lacking the desire even to open her eyes, the girl groaned as she was rolled over onto her back.

"Sancta Maria Mater Dei! Whatever happened to you?"

_Claude._ A tiny ray of comfort seeped through the cracks of her broken spirit.

"They threw rotten vegetables at me." His presence gave her the strength to speak. "They hate me now." She swallowed painfully against the lump in her throat. "And to think I was worried that something bad would happen to me when I supposedly stabbed Phoebus."

"Ohhhh. Esmerelda, I'm so sorry. I know how it feels." The judge attempted to wipe her dirty forehead with a thumb, and kissed her there. "Being mistreated by your own family. Being thrown out."

E wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the folds of his traveling cloak. (At least she wasn't getting dirt on anything too terribly expensive or difficult to wash.) "Clopin made me promise to kill you." Her voice was thick from crying. "And when he realized that you weren't dead…"

The judge's arms squeezed her gently. "I could not ask for greater loyalty," he whispered. Taking a corner of his cloak, he carefully wiped her face.

F: "Scandal! Scandal! Scandal!" The cathedral echoed with the deafening chant.

Years of practice enabled the judge to maintain a cool, emotionless demeanor. "MY CONSCIENCE IS CLEAR!" He was experienced with the legal system; he knew that the less he said right now, the better it would be for him. However, he had also noticed that Esmerelda was trying to escape. Hopefully, if he drew the crowd's attention to himself, she would have an easier time getting away safely.

"I have an idea!" a voice shouted from the crowd. "There's a bunch of us and one of him. Let's hang him from a lamp post!"

"You would prefer a quick finish to a court battle?" the judge replied calmly. "I have heard more than one of you mutter under your breath how much you would enjoy seeing _me_ in the defendant's chair."

"Yeah! Don't hurt him!" a voice agreed. "I can't wait to see this! YOU, CLAUDE FROLLO, STAND ACCUSED OF HARBORING ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS! HOW DO YOU PLEAD?"

Laughter roared, echoing from the stone walls. Swallowing his anger, Claude calmly headed for the doors. The crowd parted around him like a violent Red Sea, churning and thrashing. Despite this recent black mark by his name, Claude Frollo was still the judge. Nobody dared throw a tomato at him—at least, not until he had been legally removed from office.

The judge focused very intently on the sound of his horse's hooves as he rode back to the Palace of Justice, deliberately tuning out the gossiping crowds. As he had known from the beginning, his faux pau had eventually been uncovered, to the great delight of the common folk.

All was not over. Nothing had been proven against him, and he still retained his position of power. However, the city of Paris would be snickering about this behind his back for a long, long time.

_We weren't even doing anything!_ Claude swallowed his anger so hard that he almost choked on it. _We were practicing martial arts in the floor!_

His face drew up in pain. _No, it was foreplay, you idiot. The archdeacon recognized it too._

Not to mention that he had been _seen_ the first time he grabbed Esmerelda in Notre Dame. This happened all the time in court; people suddenly realizing to their dismay that there was a witness that they never knew about. But the judge had never expected this to happen to _him_.

He made it safely to the Palace of Justice, but he expected Esmerelda had not been so lucky. Trading his usual finery for a simple travelling cloak, he headed back out through the city. "Work with me, Snowball. I need you to find Esmerelda for me."

They had finally found her, tired and dirty and curled up on the ground. Claude immediately got off the horse and knelt beside her. The girl's only response was to groan.

"_Sancta Maria Mater Dei_!" The judge's long-dormant heart suddenly wrung itself in pain as Esmerelda sobbed out the story of her recent disfellowship.

Almost naturally, he felt the need to comfort her. Before he realized it, he was talking about his family and his past. "Ohhhh. Esmerelda, I'm so sorry. I know how it feels." The judge attempted to wipe her dirty forehead with a thumb, and kissed her there. "Being mistreated by your own family. Being thrown out."

"Clopin made me promise to kill you," Esmerelda choked.

This came as no surprise to Claude Frollo, but it quieted a fear that had pestered him since Esmerelda first came to the palace to dance. "I could not ask for greater loyalty." He wiped her face as clean as he could and kissed her. The taste of dirt and salty tears mingled with the sweetness of her lips.

Life returned to her tired body as she returned the kiss, arms tightening around him.

Something inside of him melted. He'd happily bear the evening's humiliation all over again for her; the girl's warmth was salve on his wounded soul.

Their lips eventually separated, and Esmerelda sank back into his arms. "I love you," she said simply, beautiful green eyes fixed on his heavy gray ones.

"I love _you_." Claude could not remember how many decades had passed since he had spoken those words. Most likely, the last time had been in reference to his dying parents.

The judge lifted the poor girl onto Snowball with him and took the long, indirect route back to the Palace of Justice, keeping to empty roads as much as possible. It was late, and most people had returned to their homes. Nobody was really looking for him; they had no reason to assume he had left the Palace of Justice.

Frollo and the girl snuck inside the Palace by one of the many inconspicuous entryways. Frollo knew better than to trust his idiotic minions, preferring to station them at assigned places and deliberately neglect to instruct them on all of the passageways.

No sooner than they were safely inside, the judge picked up his battered little songbird and carried her silently through the halls. Claude was an expert at noiseless walking, the trait perfected during many years of desiring to keep his men on edge; the dancer's weight was not a hindrance to him.

Poor dear. She was splattered with filth and dried blood, and an emotional wreck. He owed it to her to make her feel better…

E: Even though the judge had most likely acted on ulterior motives, Esmerelda certainly wasn't going to complain. She'd kept herself clean by pan bathing all of her life; soaking in hot water with Claude wiping off the day's dirt and grime felt absolutely divine.

She may have been turned out by her family, but that didn't mean she had been left with nowhere to go. They'd already repudiated her; the thought of further upsetting them was no longer a concern.

"Claude," she said, "I want to marry you."

"Wh-what?" A surprised almost-laugh caught in his throat.

"No, I'm serious." Esmerelda put her hands on the side of the bathtub and leaned forward to look him directly in the eyes.

He didn't reciprocate. E put a finger under his chin and gently tilted his head up. "_Claude_. We are having a conversation. Please look at my face and not my breasts."

He lifted his gaze, grinning innocently at her. Unable to stop herself, E giggled. "For a sixty-two year old man, you certainly haven't learned how to behave yourself."

"Who, me?" He leaned in and ran his tongue from her collarbone to her jawline.

"Yes, you." With a teasing grin, she grabbed his hair and pushed him away.

"You are getting my hair wet." The words were aloof, but the tone of voice sparkled with playfulness.

"You're practically _laughing_," Esmerelda observed with mock astonishment. She rested her chin on the edge of the bathtub. "You know, I _like_ your nicer side. Better not let anyone but me see this side of you, or you'll have folks begging for favors left and right."

"Very true." His usual stiffness returned. "As you yourself demonstrated when you voiced your foolish hope that we could ever get married. I have very good reasons for not being nice."

"Claude?" Concern hung from her words. "What's bothering you?"

"Look." The judge took her face in his hands so he could eye her directly. "You know how I feel about you, but you're a fool if you think that a respected government official can marry a pole dancer who doesn't even have citizenship. As an authority figure, I have a public face to maintain. If I were younger and you were the daughter of some aristocrat, it would not be an issue, but as it stands…" He trailed off.

Frollo might as well have slapped her across the face, from the burning rejection that welled up within her. "It's not _fair_!" Esmerelda howled to no one in particular. "We're different races, different backgrounds, different social classes, different ages, but—but—" Esmerelda's anger threatened to choke her. "Look, you can forget about horrid in-laws, my family already kicked me out. You have money, let's up and run off together!" Her face brightened at the idea.

"Esmerelda Trollifeau, I am a public official." His voice was emotionless. "I cannot impulsively up and run off with some girl who is 40 years my junior."

The judge was right. Tears stung the gypsy's eyes. Though it pained her so, his responsibility and devotion to his civil duty only made her admire him more.

"I understand." As Esmerelda hung her head, her heart followed suit.

"But I'll see what I can do." He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "So _be patient_, you young whippersnapper." He waved a scolding finger at her.

She grinned back. "I'll slow down a little for you, old man."

"Youth is wasted on the young!" he snorted, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

F: The judge kept his face stiff, but Esmerelda's offer stung him like an offended hornet. Throughout his entire career, Frollo had prided himself on his infallible record of following rules to the letter. The minister had deliberately not thought about the awkward reality that he now had a mistress. To top it off, he'd just admitted to her and himself both that they couldn't realistically get married.

_You're just stringing her along for nothing, you disgusting master of exploitation. You are nothing but a user! _Claude had spent most of his life looking down his nose on men who unabashedly manipulated women to serve their own animalistic ends, only to ultimately leave these women with nothing to show for their relationship but a shattered heart and an ocean of self-loathing.

Claude Frollo could enthusiastically lecture the common folk about promiscuity for hours, yet he found it so irritatingly difficult to obey the rules for himself. His muscles instinctively tightened in frustration. Rules were for those without extenuating circumstances, dammit! He and Esmerelda absolutely would have been properly married a long time ago, were it not for the fact that the two of them were from different races, different social classes, different cultures, different generations, different levels of economic standing…

Forget it. It would never work. To top it all off, they were technically supposed to be killing each other. Esmerelda had admitted to the promise that Clopin had forced from her, and had the judge enforced the laws as impartially as he claimed that he did…

He sighed in annoyance when Esmerelda suggested running away together. Such foolish, impatient young people! Couldn't she _see_?

Nevertheless, she had challenged his integrity; no longer could he hide from himself. Esmerelda was fully within her rights to speak up; she deserved better than being some concubine! Her dejected expression tore open his weary heart.

_I don't know what to do anymore, God in Heaven,_ he prayed helplessly. _If you don't want us living like this, please show me how to change things!_

"I'll see what I can do," he promised her.

Esmerelda happily laid in the water until it started getting cold. The judge wrapped her up in a towel, wrapped her up well, to the point she would have to take tiny baby steps in order to walk anywhere. Not a problem, he could carry her.

She laid so relaxed and limp in his arms, damp hair brushing his chin and neck when she laid her head against him. Leftover warmth from the bathwater still radiated from her. Her soft beauty sunk tendrils into his brain, preventing any rational thought.

Her newly-washed skin was even softer than his bedsheets. The judge pulled her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. She snuggled up close, stroking his cheek with a delicate, bronze hand.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: So I was in the process of writing the next installment and was re-reading my story to refresh my memory. And I realized that I somehow managed to write TWO ENTIRE CHAPTERS describing Frollo's nerve-wracking audit and then managed not to upload them. -_- Even though I'd already uploaded the fight between Es and Clopin (which happened AFTER the audit…). So here you go, this picks up where the bath scene left off.**

E: After the horrid rejection by her people, curling up under the bedsheets felt absolutely divine. The judge, understanding her exhaustion, allowed her to sleep and didn't insist on pawing at her.

She was sufficiently tired, both physically and emotionally, that she didn't object to spending the next day reading in bed. Poor Claude, _he_ had to go to work.

The minister was his usual taciturn self that morning, but he mentioned something about disrespectful young people throwing their elders in the floor. E figured that he was still sore (he must be getting older than he cared to admit) and offered him a back massage to make up for it. _That_ fixed his sour mood. E had a funny feeling that he was soon going to start complaining about all sorts of aches and pains just to get attention.

He left that morning and came back that night. "You're moving back to the Notre Dame belltower," he said. "We're travelling under the cover of darkness this time, instead of in broad daylight."

"No armor—good," Esmerelda commented. "But why Notre Dame? We just got busted and driven from there?"

"Exactly. Nobody would expect you to go back. You won't be found; nobody visits the belltower."

"I had better not be found," she huffed. "By _anyone_. Citizen or gypsy. They all hate me now."

"Don't worry. I can navigate this," he reassured her. "Untangling messy knots is my life's work." The pit of her stomach tingled when he kissed her forehead. Gently, he slipped an arm around her waist and led her to the stables.

The chilly night air nipped at Esmerelda's nose and ears as they rode, causing her to bury herself deeper against his robes. Summer was turning to fall, she would soon be obliged to wear a little more clothing when she danced—forget it. After this recent mess she'd gotten into, she didn't know if she'd ever dance in public again.

They made it to the belltower without incident. The next few days passed with nothing major to report. Quasi was beyond jubilant to see her, and nobody else seemed to be aware of her presence.

Frollo had even managed to sneak a visit. Ever the crafty one, Frollo started the evening by arguing with the archdeacon and convincing him to make an all-night vigil in the cathedral. The archdeacon had lived in the church basement for years, he slept in his own little room, but given that he was spending the night in the sanctuary anyway…

Well, well, what the archdeacon didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, should he find out after the fact, the clergyman's reaction would likely prove very amusing.

But Esmerelda, not being a fool, did not expect the peace and quiet to last. Her suspicions were confirmed when she was startled by a _thunk_ and turned around to find a grappling hook wrapped tightly around one of the wooden beams of the belltower.

E's heart leapt into her throat. Her first instinct was to reach for the nearest sharp object. Quasi had a knife laying out on his carving table; that would do. She pressed the sharp edge against the rope and had just begun to saw when the bleating of a goat made her freeze.

"_Djali?"_ She'd recognize that sound anywhere!

"Yeah, she's a good little goat. She's been helping me track you." Two calloused brown hands grabbed the wooden platform on which Esmerelda stood, and Clopin swung himself up, Djali tied to his back.

"_You_," Esmerelda snarled. "You. Betrayed. Me." She swung around to face her older brother, knife in hand.

"Whoa whoa whoa. Sis. Drop the knife. I'm here to apologize." Clopin held up both hands in surrender.

"Good." Esmerelda's voice remained icy. "If you were here for _any other_ reason, I'd tell Quasi here to throw you off the cathedral to your death."

"That isn't very nice of you, Miss E," Quasi said. _Damn you, Quasi, can't you play along with me?_

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened. I felt horrible when I saw my people's reaction. You didn't deserve that, Esmerelda." Clopin's tone was awkward and ashamed.

"Then why did you betray me? I'm _helping_ you, goddammit! I told you, I'm talking with the judge—"

"Esmerelda, we _need_ your help, please don't misunderstand me, but…sleeping with the judge is not _helping_ anything. I made my expectations very clear, and you promised to comply."

"I promised you that I would do something that was wrong!" Esmerelda bit back. "I can't kill the judge! He's a good man—"

"Esmerelda, for your own good, I insist that you let me take you out from under his heel." Clopin interrupted her with a very firm statement.

"_You don't understand!_" Esmerelda shrieked. "You don't even _know_ him!"

"And how well do _you_ know him?" Clopin retorted.

Unfortunately, Clopin had a point. She knew that her true love was holding things back from her—like the pentagram on his back.

"I know him better than you do!" Esmerelda retorted, but inside she quaked.

Clopin opened his mouth, but Quasi stepped between the fighting siblings. "Please be nice," Quasi said. "I do not like angry people."

Djali bleated. Quasi's face brightened. "You brought Miss E's goat!" he cried to Clopin, wrapping the gypsy leader in a bear hug.

"You are heavier than Miss E," Quasi remarked to Clopin. "I cannot carry you as easily."

"_Everyone_ is heavier than Esmerelda," Clopin responded. He untied the goat, who happily let Quasi pick her up and carry her up the tower stairs.

Clopin exhaled softly. "Esmerelda, I'm sorry about all of this. You are my only family, and I want to make peace. This whole problem is my fault. I shouldn't have allowed you to do all of that sensual dancing. I should have known that something like this would eventually happen." Clopin knelt at her feet. "Esmerelda, please forgive me. I'll pull some strings and get them to welcome you back. Things are getting better at the Court of Miracles. My new job as an opium smuggler is really paying well, I'm making enough to support both of us, you can come home."

"Interesting that you should mention opium," came the calm baritone voice that Esmerelda recognized immediately. "And how nice of you to visit us, Mr. Trollifeau."

F: The judge had discretely been keeping an eye on Notre Dame, looking for any indication that anyone was trying to contact Esmerelda. To his great delight, he'd caught Clopin trying to reason with his younger sister. The judge had quietly crept up the belltower, determined to take full advantage of the opportunity he'd been given to see how Esmerelda spoke with her brother when she thought she was not being watched.

He was pleased to observe that the Trollifeau siblings were not on good terms with each other; he need not worry about Esmerelda's loyalty. True, she would no longer be able to spy for him, but that hardly meant that he had no reason for keeping the girl.

And Clopin had admitted, right under the judge's nose, to smuggling drugs! A smile spread across the minister's face. This day just kept getting better.

Neither gypsy was aware of the judge's presence until he spoke. Esmerelda was relatively nonplussed, but the horror smeared on Clopin's face was a delight to observe. "I'd—just—come here to turn those opium traders in, Your Horror."

Esmerelda stomped on her brother's foot. "Ow!—I mean Your Honor."

Claude almost laughed in amusement, but his years of practice at keeping a stiff face pulled him through.

"Please don't hurt me!" Clopin squeaked in a voice that was embarrassingly high-pitched.

Claude began slowly pacing in front of the Trollifeau siblings, thoroughly enjoying his moment of dominance.

"Give me one good reason not to hurt you." His cool, baritone voice made Clopin shiver.

The gypsy ringleader gazed pleadingly at his sister, but Esmerelda only sighed and shook her head. "You're caught, bub," she stated flatly. "This is what happens when you walk into the clutches of Judge Claude Frollo."

Claude allowed himself to smile at this. Esmerelda was as intelligent as he'd hoped.

"Exactly," the judge confirmed. Reaching into his robes, he unclipped a set of handcuffs from his belt and held them out at arm's length. "Esmerelda, handcuff him."

Her face emotionless, Esmerelda took the handcuffs and approached her brother. Clopin's eyes widened. "Esmerelda, I'm your _brother_!"

Esmerelda did not say anything in response.

"Hands behind your back," the judge ordered calmly.

Clopin glanced at his beautiful sister. "You heard the judge," she spoke flatly. "He does not like to be disobeyed; I can promise you that."

Clopin put his hands behind his back. The only noise heard in the belltower was the _click_ of handcuffs on the gypsy leader's wrists. Such a beautiful, satisfying sound.

"Come," the judge barked, grabbing Clopin roughly by the shoulder. They were almost to the door when Esmerelda's soft voice rang in his skull. "Where are you taking him?"

Did she care about Clopin's safety? "To prison," Frollo replied calmly. "As for _you_, my dear"—he swept her into an exaggerated kiss—"you are staying right here."

Clopin vomited on the belltower floor.

Scowling in disgust, Claude ripped a large chunk of fabric from the young man's shirt and threw it over the stinking mess. He pushed Clopin out the door. The siblings must be separated, for obvious reasons, but he would be back to check on Esmerelda later.

E: The girl slumped to the wooden floor. "Oh, Clopin, you _fool_!" she groaned. Part of her resented the judge for separating them, although she completely understood why he had done it. He couldn't take any risks, not with his trial coming tomorrow.

Why, oh why, did she have to fall in love with the leader of the law enforcement who was trying to round up her extended family and ship them out? She'd heard plenty of stories about quarrelling in-laws, but nothing quite to the extent of locking your girlfriend's brother in jail.

"It's not _fair_!" Esmerelda howled into the empty space. Claude had all the right qualities: wealthy, educated, influential, devoted to her, and even _gentle_.

And all that Clopin could do was complain. Ok, so maybe Claude was a little old for her, but no man is perfect. If Claude was _perfect_, he wouldn't be real.

Quasimodo's voice interrupted her mental tirade. "What isn't fair, Miss E?"

Esmerelda's shoulders drooped as she exhaled loudly. "I'm being forced to choose between my lover and my own flesh and blood. I can't do this. I _won't_!" She stomped her foot. Djali bleated.

The goat came over and pressed against her; the animal's presence was somewhat calming. "The minister just made me put handcuffs on my brother. My _brother_!"

"Of course," Quasi responded. "Your brother smuggles opium."

"YOU DON'T GET IT," Esmerelda hissed. "Clopin is a good man trying to keep our people fed, and the minister just wants to trap him! And he isn't above using _me_ as bait, apparently." She spat on the floor.

"Please stop being angry, Miss E," Quasi begged, gently wrapping his arms around her.

Still fuming, Esmerelda allowed Quasi to hug her.

"It will all be okay," Quasi reassured. "Djali is here for you. I am here for you. I would _never, ever_ let anything bad happen to you."

The boy's sweet disposition insistently worked its way into her troubled mind. "I am glad that Master likes you," Quasi continued. "I want him to keep you. You are nice."

How could the judge _ever_ keep her, when he was being put on trial tomorrow for harboring an illegal immigrant?

F: Clopin behind bars: good. Being put on trial the next day: bad.

Perhaps he'd been too hard on himself. This was his first black mark in his many, many years of office. He had made enough money to live out the rest of his days comfortably; perhaps it was time to retire after his term was up.

"I need to explain something to you." The judge reached a finger under Esmerelda's chin, lifting her head back so that he could look directly into her gorgeous eyes. "The sanctuary is empty, and will be for the next few hours. Come with me."

"You're sure the archdeacon won't show up?" E asked, logically enough, as they walked into the huge empty space.

A smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I may be only human, Esmerelda, but I _do _learn from my mistakes. The archdeacon may or may not be locked in the janitorial closet. I know absolutely nothing about this, of course." Claude twirled his key ring around his finger.

Esmerelda smiled mischeviously at him. "Uh oh. Better kneel down and start begging for forgiveness, minister." Taking two huge fistfuls of his robes right under his collarbone, she pulled downwards. He complied, sinking to his knees.

Esmerelda now stood a few inches taller than he. "You naughty thing," she purred. Her soft, delicate hands clasped either side of his face. Quick as a cat, her face was against his, her tongue swept firmly over his lower lip. The judge snatched her by the shoulders and sat back, pulling her petite form into his lap. His tongue found hers as he clasped her more firmly, enveloping her in his robes. Obligingly, she arched her back to press her chest closer into his, curling her legs around his waist. Claude put one hand on the back of her neck and threaded the other one through her hair, holding her close as they kissed.

Sancta Maria Mater Dei, he was going to miss her.

"I wanted to know," she said, "about the pentagram."

"Yes. You deserve to know." Claude took a deep breath. "My parents died when Jehan and I were little. We ended up with our aunt and uncle."

"Wow," Esmerelda breathed. "I'm so sorry. I don't even remember my parents; they died when I was still a baby. Clopin was several years older than I. He took care of me."

"My aunt and uncle were the vilest creatures in history to claim for themselves the title 'human'. They were cultists." Frollo took a deep breath, forcing himself not to shake. "I soon realized that the only reason that they took in Jehan and myself was because the cult needed some disposables to handle the dirty, dangerous work. I was eleven years old and helping them hide the corpses of people they had murdered." His next breath caught in his throat. "They branded Jehan and me." He reached a hand around his back to touch where the scar was. "They told us that we belonged to them forever, and we could never leave."

"But you did leave," E whispered.

Frollo nodded. "We had displeased the cult leader by allowing a prisoner to escape. As punishment, they tied us both and beat Jehan to try to make him talk. He _couldn't_ talk for screaming. I finally spoke up, I…" His voice caught.

Esmerelda's hand stroked his cheek. "Let me share some wisdom with you, that Clopin told me that our dad would repeat to him over and over. Big boys don't cry, but real men do."

_I'm not crying!_ Claude didn't dare speak because he didn't trust his voice.

"It's very brave of you to open up like this," Esmerelda continued.

The minister took a deep, shaky breath and tried again. "We ran away, but Jehan was hurt too badly. He died a few days later." He choked on his words.

"I'm so sorry." Carmel-colored hands stroked his soft hair.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. E broke the silence. "Is this why you became so religious, to try to make up for the cult you were raised in?"

He nodded.

"And you vowed that you would do anything to get rid of horrid people like your aunt and uncle. You felt that you owed it to your brother."

He nodded again.

"I own you an apology," Esmerelda finally said. "I made many assumptions about you that were completely wrong. You are an incredible human being." Her own voice broke. "I love you." Her hands gently pulled his face towards her, stretching up on tiptoe for a kiss.

Their tears mingled together as the minister held his dancer close. Her cheek was pressed against his, her feet dangling inches from the floor. He craved her warmth, her scent, her nails raking down his spine. Her siren's song throbbed in his skull, compelling himself to steer his ship directly into the rocks. Be it a hex, a temptation sent to snare him, or his own demented mind playing tricks on him, the judge did not care.

Gently, he sank to the floor, pulling her into his lap. Instinctively she snuggled into his soft, voluminous robes. Frollo buried his face in her hair, her scent curling into his brain like climbing ivy that slowly destroys the wall it clings to. He wrapped a hand around her back and gently tugged at the laces of her corset. One by one, they gave way to his persistent fingers. Esmerelda held still and stayed quiet, the quickening of her breathing was the only sign that she was responding to his touch.

At last, he had her dress open. The judge stroked her neck with a finger, eliciting a soft sigh. His hand combed over her silken skin, tracing the outline of her clavicle, finally coming to rest between her breasts. She moaned out, digging her soft little hands under the neck of his robes.

Her touch on his spine only stoked him further. He bent over the girl, pressing her to the floor. Frollo had one hand on her chest, one hand crawling down the front of her dress on her stomach, his teeth lightly resting on her neck. He nipped at her, deliberately getting only the very top of her skin so she would feel the pinch more keenly.

The gypsy's back arched and she moaned aloud. Her soft pleading thrummed in his ears, driving the judge deeper into his corporeal aching. He bit her again, harder this time, sealing his lips over her tender skin. Esmerelda wailed and twitched, already trembling beneath his eager hands.

The hungry animal inside of him snarled in anticipation and frustration, wishing to tear into her immediately instead of being tormented with those tantalizing dainty bites. Claude pushed the animal back down. It might be a very long time before he saw her again; he would not rush this.

It was only a moment's pause, but it was enough time for the girl to grab the back of his head, pull him in, and bite down hard right under his jawline. Claude sucked in a sharp breath in pain and surprise, delighted at those full lips on his neck in spite of himself.

"Biting me, my little pet tigress?" he purred. A smile cracked across his face. "But I bite harder, oh yes." His teeth moved down past her neck, aggressively nipping at the top of her skin. Esmerelda threw back her head and howled like a wild animal.

No chorus of angels could replicate the sweet melody of her voice. Frollo sank down on top of her, his cheek against her neck, her pulse prodding him with searing tremors. Her hands reached up under his voluminous robe, unbuttoning his shirt. Those soft, delicate little hands, that burned against his sternum. He dug his fingers into her sides, clutching her close, soaking up her shivers like a sponge.

Her hands slipped from under his robes to clasp his face, fingers stabbing against his skin like hot coals. The animal inside of him howled in pain and hunger, digging its claws into him in frustration and depravation. Sweet, sweet temptation seared him when the tip of her tongue brushed his lips. He snatched her into the kiss, his tongue flicking over hers, blood pounding in his ears.

Both of them were panting hard when she finally came up for air. "Archdeacon better not see this. You sure you locked that door good?" Esmerelda grinned up at him.

"My life's work is to lock people up, darling. I know what I'm doing." He grinned back at her, running a finger under her chin. "Which reminds me, it would be a shame if some nosy commoner happened to be peering in through a window. You had best come with me." He lifted her in his arms and swept across the marble floor with a level of excitement rarely seen in him.

The choir loft; no person walking by would have a view through _that_ lofty window. Frollo ascended the stairs with an agility that one would not expect from a 62-year-old man with his arms full. The gypsy clutched his robes close, not wanting to tumble down the stairs. It only stoked him further.

E: She rested her chin over his shoulder, arms around his neck, watching the cathedral pews retreat in the distance as she was carried up the stairs. It reminded her of her childhood, when she would play outside until she was too tired to walk, and Clopin would carry her back to the wagons.

How strange that she felt so safe, so valued, in the arms of the public official whose job it was to enforce immigration laws. Who was being called on the carpet, _tomorrow_, for failing to pack her up and ship her out of Paris.

Clopin may be her closest resemblance she had to a parent figure, and she loved him with a fervent filial piety, but he could a damn idiot sometimes. Clopin _insisted_ that the judge was just playing with her, but no man puts his career on the line for a toy!

The thought of Clopin pained her a little. Her dear brother had been rewarded for his devotion to her by being locked up behind bars. By the judge.

She pushed the thought down. Clopin had chosen to walk right into Frollo's clutches; his imprisonment was not _her_ fault.

And yet, in a sense, it _was_ her fault. _She_ had chosen to tease the judge and set this entire sequence of events in motion. Clopin was right about one thing: she was good at making risky, impulsive decisions.

But right now, happily wrapped up in the judge's arms, Esmerelda regretted nothing.

Light sliced through the stained glass, splattering the choir loft with a brilliant mosaic of colors. Claude gently placed her standing the floor; the cold from the floor seeped through the underside of her bare feet. The seasons were changing, and Esmerelda had never enjoyed winter, wrapped up in whatever unattractive scraps of fabric she could gather. She would not mind wearing the shoes so much, if she could afford a good pair that actually fit.

"It's beautiful up here," she whispered. Quickly hooking the straps of her dress back up on her shoulders, she twirled across the room, somersaulted over multiple chairs, and landed on top of the grand piano with the agility of a cat. "It makes me want to dance!"

Claude waved a scolding finger at her. "The choirmaster would be _furious_ if he saw you laying on his piano."

"But the choirmaster isn't here," E responded impishly. "But I would like to know, how do _you_ feel about me laying on his piano?" Grinning, she laid back, kicking her left leg up in the air before bringing her toes back to rest on her knee. The minister intently watched her skirt flip into the air and slide back.

It was a rhetorical question. She knew _exactly_ how he felt about her laying on the piano.

F: Splattered with the brilliant hues from the rose window, Esmerelda's beauty could have roused the envy of the angels above; small wonder that it prevented the Minister of Justice from thinking clearly.

He reached out a hand to touch her. Teasingly, she rolled over, just out of his reach. Undeterred, he jumped up on the piano, grabbing her by the hair.

"Uh oh, you're sitting on the piano," Esmerelda scolded him. "The choirmaster will be furious!"

"Oh, I'm quite certain he will be." Being a judge had a great many benefits, one of which being that it did not matter if you annoyed a church musician. He pulled the girl back into his arms, pressing his forehead against her temple.

"Are you cold?" he asked, slightly worried by the lukewarm feel of her blue-tinged hands and arms.

"It's a little chilly in here," she mumbled.

Smiling a little, Claude slipped his voluminous robes over her. The garment was easily loose enough to accommodate them both. Happily, she snuggled up close, pressing her hands to his bare chest. Her touch was cold at first, but her tiny form quickly absorbed his warmth.

Her fingers, now warmed, methodically traced his muscle definition. The searing, throbbing pressure rose inside of him, begging for a release. Frollo could hold back no longer. Grabbing her fiercely, he tugged at her unstrung dress, pulling it down to her slender ankles. He practically tore his own undergarments, he was in such a hurry; the wild animal inside of him had snapped its chain and was free to enthusiastically follow its base instincts.

Esmerelda, who appeared to be learning obedience at last, complacently laid spread-eagle on top of the grand piano. The black robe swallowed her completely, save for her tiny bronze hands that poked from the holes in the sleeves.

The minister's own hands were all too happy to remain on the lovely girl, concealed under the judicial robes. They stroked her soft skin as she whimpered in delight and anticipation. She shivered under his weight; it delighted Frollo to realize that the shivers were as a result of him and not the chilly air.

She arched back, curling her toned legs around him. The animal pounced, eliciting a shudder from her petite form and a yelp from her red lips. "_Claaaaaaaaude_!" she wailed, pulling her hands back into the robe. The minister savored the sting of her fingernails raking his sides.

No choir's performance could compare to the wild and primal hallelujah that the minister drew out of his sweet beloved. He gripped her waist with both hands, holding her in place despite her shuddering and thrashing. Her nails raked down his spine, deliciously sharp against the bones in his back.

The minister was unwilling to relinquish his most valued treasure, knowing that the cruel, wicked would tear down on them with full force tomorrow, ripping them apart. Long after the fierce, boiling waves had thrown both of them to the motionless shore, he still laid slumped on top of her. His weight pinned her to the top of the piano. If he never got up, if he could just hold her there forever…

E: Still trembling, Esmerelda struggled to catch her breath. Frollo's motionless weight on top of her was not helping. She pushed against him with her hands, trying to garner a few more inches for her ribcage to expand.

"You're _heavy_," she grumbled.

"You're soft," he purred. "And warm." He grinned back at her, obviously unwilling to move.

His head suddenly lifted, eyes alert. "Someone's coming up the stairs," he grumbled. Quickly, he untangled her from his robes and stomped toward the door.

Esmerelda smiled at the discourse that took place.

"You don't belong up here," said the stranger's voice.

"I could say the same of you, choirmaster," Frollo replied coolly.

"But I'm the choirmaster!" he spluttered. "And I need to check on my piano! Every time I turn my back, it has dirty little choir-boys' handprints all over it!"

"The business of the Minister of Justice is far more important than the cleanliness of your piano. I suggest you walk back down those stairs immediately and not come back for another hour. The piano can wait."

The choirmaster huffed angrily as his steps retreated down the stairs. "I just want to take care of my piano," he grumbled. "People just won't stop touching it! I'd expect the judge of Paris would understand the need to keep idiots from using your things inappropriately."

Esmerelda stifled a laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

F: The nosy choirmaster chased out of the way, Claude Frollo and his dancing girl could discreetly return to the Palace of Justice. "Our stories will match when we are interrogated tomorrow," he reiterated. "Recite your part to me once more."

"You offered me a job as a spy," E rattled off. "I accepted. I worked for you only a few days before my people found me out and disowned me. You, in your great compassion for your fellow human beings—" Esmerelda rolled her eyes, at which Claude scowled but did not speak—"took me in and cared for me after my excommunication."

"Well done." The judge kept his voice level.

"Anything I'm forgetting, Claude?" she prodded. Surely, she only wanted to ensure that she remembered all of the details correctly, but the sound of his first name gave the judge a cold chill.

"Yes." The word snapped from his lips in irritation. "You are forgetting that you will address me as Minister Frollo. You will give King Louis no indication whatsoever that our relationship with each other is _anything_ more than a business contact."

"Yes, Your Honor." Her body language betrayed annoyance at being given orders, but she made no verbal protest.

"Excellent."

They rode back to the palace on Snowball. Many a head turned to watch them, but not a mouth opened. The judge saw no reason to address them, to give some sort of explanation for his actions. Tomorrow's court records would show that Claude Frollo had explained that Esmerelda Trollifeau had worked for him as a spy, been found out by her people, and then been rescued by the judge. (He _was_ a righteous man, after all, and the common folk who actually obeyed him deserved some form of compensation for their good behavior.)

True, he had kept Esmerelda for longer than may have seemed necessary, but even that was all part of the plan. He had cleverly been using Esmerelda as bait, bait to trap Clopin the kingpin of their little crime ring. And it had worked!

In truth, Clopin's arrival had been a lucky accident, but there was no need for King Louis to know that. Ever the master card-player, Frollo had spent years honing his ability to play whatever hand he was dealt. The gypsy leader made a very nice card, indeed.

When they made it to the Palace, Claude had Esmerelda dismount Snowball first. Snowball was almost as finicky as his master; the horse could easily have decided to throw the girl from his back. Claude was the only human that Snowball would consistently obey.

The judge walked Esmerelda through the stifling stone hallways to a guest bedroom, remaining calm and collected as the guards watched curiously. She was his employee, after all; why should he be afraid to be seen with her?

E: The guest bedroom, albeit not as luxurious as the judge's room, was still very comfortable. The tired girl fell asleep almost immediately.

Some hours later, she was awakened by a key in the lock and the creaking of door hinges. Why in Heaven's name was her sleep being disturbed at this ungodly hour? Grumbling, she forced herself awake. What had gone wrong, was it a guard coming in to bother her…

The intruder gently pulled the door closed. Esmerelda was afraid to move, afraid to make this stranger aware that she was in the room.

"I couldn't sleep. I must be more worried about tomorrow's hearing than I realized." The minister's tone was almost apologetic.

_And how is that my problem?_ She wisely bit back the stinging retort.

"Esmerelda, please don't be angry with me for waking you. I am your protector, I promise you that I will not allow you to be hurt as a result of my actions." Long, pale fingers gently stroked her cheek.

E was still somewhat annoyed at being awakened, but could not be angry with the gentle, caring man sitting on her bed beside her. Smirking, she remarked, "I suppose you're too righteous for that?"

"Why, Esmerelda, you know me better than anyone." His eyes mirrored the soft smile in her emerald ones. "How could you think me anything _but_ righteous?"

"Hmm, _let me think_." With an exaggerated gesture, she crossed her legs and rested her chin on her knuckles. "You locked the archdeacon in the broom closet…"

"Locking people up is my profession," Claude intoned loftily, lifting a hand overdramatically.

"You stabbed your captain," she continued.

"For _you_, dear," he clarified, gently lifting her chin. "Some people…are worth breaking rules."

"Coming from you, that's a compliment of the highest degree." Before he could stammer out a reply, she kissed him.

His stunned surprise lasted for about a second, then his fingers grabbed her hair, pulling her into himself with a dedicated fierceness. He bent over her, pressing her back into the mattress, his tongue stroking hers. Shivers of delight raced over her, her irritation forgotten.

He untangled his mouth from hers so that he could speak. "I love you," he whispered huskily. "I promise you that I will come back for you after I straighten out this mess." He paused to take a breath. "I need to feel your warmth, hear your voice…and watch you dance."

"Dance," she echoed. This entire situation had begun with a dance. She'd danced in front of him, mercilessly poking fun at him, at the Festival of Fools. She'd been dancing at the Boar's Head when he'd shown up, and she'd scolded him for missing her performance, and he'd extended the fateful invitation for her to come perform in the Palace of Justice.

And she'd danced at the palace for him. And he'd grabbed her, moving together with her, culminating in a wild, passionate end that both of them knew was a terrible decision but happily went through with it anyway.

The wildest things can happen when you dance.

"You're always telling me how much you enjoy watching me dance, but I wonder…" Esmerelda paused, his eyes on her, "…how would you like to dance _with_ me?"

He blinked, and a smile followed. "I would love to." One hand clasped hers and the other dropped gently to the small of her back, pulling her to her feet.

The minister was so tall that Esmerelda had to tiptoe and he had to bend over. Their cheeks brushed, his lips almost touching her ear.

"_Wise men say only fools rush in…_" His words were so soft that he would never be heard outside of the room.

"_But I can't help falling in love with you._" Frollo's warm breath tickled her ear. She closed her eyes, rendered completely helpless by his voice.

"_Shall I stay? Would it be a sin…_" The minister's soft baritone floated seamlessly from his lips to her ear, his voice pouring into her like wine into a glass. Bronze hands gripped his robes more tightly as the dancing girl's knees buckled under his overpowering serenade.

"_If I can't help falling in love with you_?" He held her so closely that his lips actually brushed her tragus, his touch coaxing an uncontrollable shaking from her delicate form.

"_Like a river flows…surely to the sea…"_ Gently, he guided her back to the bed. Her knees were weak, she held to him for support.

"_Darling, so it goes…some things are meant to be."_ She sank to the mattress gratefully as soon as they were close enough.

"_Take my hand. Take my whole life, too._" He leaned back to look directly into her eyes, cradling her in his arms. "_For I can't help…_" his face dipped closer to hers, they both closed their eyes "…_falling in love…_" she twitched involuntarily when his nose brushed over hers, his hot breath tangible against her face "_…with you._" His lips grazed over hers with the last two words. Fiercely, passionately, she kissed him, gripping at him more tightly.

Without breaking the kiss, he bent over her, pushing her into the mattress. His heated lips trailed back along her jawline, behind her ear, along her hairline right above the nape of her neck. Subconsciously, Esmeralda allowed her head to turn to the side, letting him nibble at the soft, fine hair that lay hidden beneath her voluminous ebony tresses. As he continued down the curve of her neck, she shivered and moaned out, begging for more.

Teeth grazed her clavicle, drawing another moan from her red lips. Pale hands gently pulled down her nightgown so he could ravish her further. Squirming and trembling, her hands slid through his silky gray hair, finally pulling his head to her chest, his flushed and heated skin so soft against hers. Her heart beat so violently, his head must be reverberating from the throbbing.

Tingling kisses trailed down the valley between her breasts. Hands picked up where lips left off, gently slipping down her middle. He paused a finger right above her pubic hair, and looked up to catch her eyes. The tilt of his head and the teasing smile twitching at the corner of his mouth said, _Darling, aren't you going to ask me to keep going?_

Yes, but not quite yet. "It's only fair if I help you undress, too," Esmeralda murmured. Sitting back up on the bed, she reached for his silk pajamas. The touch of the delicate fabric that pooled in her hands like water was sharply contrasted by the cold, hard, smooth buttons. Smiling, he relaxed under her touch, stretching out on the mattress like a dog who wanted its belly rubbed some more.

Esmeralda's hands slipped down his bare chest, taking in every contour as water settles into every dip and crevice in the surface onto which it has been poured. Though no longer a surprise to her, the notable resistance of his body to general wear and tear constantly reminded Esmeralda of the socioeconomic gap that yawned wide between them. Not only did Claude have the sense to not ruin his health by smoking opium or drinking heavily or contracting diseases from prostitutes, but he had access to basic necessities which too many of her family lacked. Claude had no need to resort to lapping dirty water from the ground to quench a fiery thirst, or eating nearly-unrecognizable things from a garbage pile when there was no other food to be had. No long years of grueling, dangerous manual labor had smashed his hands and fingers, or broken his back. He could access a physician if he became ill; he would not go cold and hungry if he took a few days off of work to recover.

Small wonder that the man was in better shape than most gypsy men who were half his age.

"Enjoying the view?" His voice swirled through her musings.

Giggling, she slid her hands back upwards, finally resting right over his nipples, as she bent her face down close to his own. "Oh, honey," she sighed softly. "I was just thinking…any gypsy man who even survived to be sixty-two would be a dilapidated shell. I have seen too many people die from illness who could not afford medicine, people crippled by injuries they received from doing manual labor just to earn money to eat. People who could never work anything but dangerous manual labor because they never had an opportunity to get an education! If I hadn't been determined enough to teach myself, I would have never learned how to read or write."

"But you did learn. And I must say that I admire you for that." His fingers reached up to slip through her hair, sweeping that black veil over both of their faces.

"Oh, it was a useful skill indeed." Esmeralda giggled. "I taught Djali to spell out words with my wooden blocks with letters on them. Cute trick, and it also kept your guards from arresting me more than once. I taught her how to spell 'Phoebus', and suddenly I had a free pass!...oh, don't frown at me just because I said his name. You know I only cozied up to him to keep him from locking me up!"

Claude blinked at her and turned his head slightly. Though he had not spoken, Esmeralda was quickly learning to read the cryptic man's body language. "Don't worry, I haven't done that to _you_," she grinned. "Nobody would suck up to _you_ to get out of trouble; they'd find the dungeons much easier to tolerate."

"_What?"_ A laugh almost fell from his sonorous voice.

"Because all of the rest of the women in Paris aren't as smart as me, and they don't realize that putting up with you is genuinely worth it." She kissed him firmly on the lips. Almost immediately he responded, arms wrapping around her, nearly crushing her in his eagerness. Tongues tangled in a heated lake of saliva as their mouths settled into a rhythm, sharing their heavy breaths.

He whined in protest when she broke the kiss, but growled in appreciation as her hot lips trailed down his neck, teeth gently playing with his pale skin. "And to think I was worried that you wanted to _talk_ all night," he murmured, voice thick with arousal.

Esmeralda merely giggled in response as she nuzzled her face to his thin, hard chest, tongue leaving wet rings around both of his nipples. His body reacted instinctively to her touch, pressing desperately against her stomach despite the cursed fabric wall between them.

Grinning at the knowledge that she was driving him to the brink of insanity, she gently licked a wet trail down the crease that divided his tight abdominal wall. His chest rose and fell in an erratic, gasping rhythm as he shivered beneath her. Esmeralda's mouth was about to his navel when his hands fiercely grabbed her shoulders, yanking her face back up to his, before rolling her onto her back.

He ripped off the remaining pajamas and jumped up on top of her; she shivered at the electrifying sensation of his slick, heated skin pressing against her own. Her name fell from his lips, a guttural moan. She bucked and writhed against him as he pushed harder, twisting in sync with him.

If it were in any way humanly possible, Claude would have stuffed his entire body inside of her. The fact that this feat was unachievable did not stop him from trying. Esmeralda instinctively synchronized with his bucking and rocking, throwing her entire heart and soul into every movement. Never mind how badly this was going to hurt in the morning; heaven only knew how much time would have to pass before they could spend another night in each other's arms.

Sheer exhaustion eventually overcame them both. Esmeralda lay slumped on the bed, goosebumps prickling her shivering skin. Several minutes ago, she hardly even noticed the sweat dripping from her like a mighty tree shedding water after a heavy rain. Now, every droplet of water seared her skin like a shard of ice.

She burrowed closer to the minister as he gently tucked the bedsheets up over her shoulders. His arms encircled her; her head nestled up against his chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. Esmeralda tossed an arm across his neck and hooked the back of her knee around his. The gentle press of his lips against the crown of her head was the last sensation she felt before she drifted off to sleep.

F: Rays of sunlight stabbed through his closed eyelids like sharpened daggers. Unwillingly, the judge forced himself awake. At first, he did not recognize his surroundings; then, he remembered the chain of events from the previous night. He'd paced his bedroom floor, anxiety keeping his eyes wide open, until he eventually admitted defeat and sought solace from his beautiful dancing girl.

Irony of ironies, the entire cause of his current predicament was his affection for said dancing girl.

Claude had learned long ago that life was cruel and unfair, but the poisoned gift of true love after sixty-two years of waiting—_forbidden _true love which could end in nothing save the utter destruction of them both—was a torture of the vilest degree.

Mentally he derided himself for bringing this trouble upon such a young girl. He fully knew that Esmerelda would be forcibly deported from France after today's court hearing—whether King Louis would force Claude Frollo's hand, or whether the king would fire his Minister of Justice and carry out the sentence personally, remained to be seen.

Where would she go? What would she do? Her clan would never take her back, not after she slept with their hated oppressor. She would be homeless, penniless, and alone.

Claude could not, _would_ not, coldly abandon her to such a fate. At the very least, he _owed_ it to her, in reparation for the strife he had given her to shoulder. The Minister of Justice was a righteous man who paid his debts.

"Your Majesty, every fiber of my being exists for the sole purpose of serving you as your noble arbitrator of justice." Claude distinctly heard a derisive snort, and almost made the fatal mistake of spinning around to verbally abuse and impose fines upon the worthless idiot for being in contempt of court. Sancta Maria Mater Dei, Claude did not like this situation at all. He belonged in the big chair behind the table, not in the defendant's seat!

True to his nature, Claude had prepared carefully for this day he had been dreading. Everything had been expertly planned; everything from a clandestine and thorough analysis of who knew what (and subsequent articulation of his defense), to the clothing that he and Esmeralda were wearing. An inattentive viewer could easily have mistaken the immigrant girl for the daughter of an upperclassman. Her short gypsy dress had been replaced with a floor-length gown, her silken hair temporarily restrained under the veil of a proper lady. Her white face makeup was in accordance with the latest fashion, and provided a bonus feature of leaving her ethnicity more open to speculation. She was the picture of a respected woman; the Boar's Head patrons would scarcely recognize her as the same person who provided their evening entertainment. For today she was the valuable employee of a respected public servant, not some flashy display.

He had traded his usual extravagant finery for a plain black cassock. Today he was a humble servant of the king, not some powerful official throwing his weight around. (Well, he _was_ a powerful official who liked throwing his weight around, but he had the common sense to restrain himself when in the company of a higher-ranking figure.)

Everything needed to align perfectly today. With his usual attention to detail, he had even managed to downplay last night's tryst as this morning's brief meeting before the court hearing. Frollo was an organized man whose guards worked regular shifts; the minister was careful to ensure that the night guards had already left their posts before he emerged from her bedroom that morning. The first shift workers would naturally assume that Frollo stepped in the room minutes before the shift changed, especially since the minister was wearing a spare set of clothes that hung in the bedroom closet. (His pajamas were stuffed under the mattress, just in case anyone had happened to take a good look inside of the room.)

All that remained now was to survive these next few hours. "In my tireless pursuit to cleanse Paris of all crime, I enlisted the aid of a double agent, Esmerelda Trouillefou," he continued. "She served me valiantly, to the point she was cast out by her own people!" Claude made a fist, emotion seeping through his voice. It was of utmost importance that his defense cast no blame on Esmerelda; King Louis could elect to order her execution as easily as her relocation.

"But I am a righteous man, Your Majesty." Claude pointedly ignored another snort. "I found her while doing my duty on patrol. As her people had cruelly beaten her, on my behalf, my conscience would allow me to do no less than—"

"Enough of these flamboyant words of your own praise," King Louis interrupted him. The monarch cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. "Claude Frollo, is it true that you have been sleeping with this—this _Esmerelda_?"

"_Absolutely_ not, Your Majesty." Claude had devoted numerous hours of practice to the confident delivery of said lie. "I am a celibate man. I made my decision many years ago; I swore my oath after my eighty-seventh child custody case. A horrible court battle it was." Claude's face took on its mask of practiced disgust. "Your Majesty, I promise you that every divorce I settle reinforces in my sinless heart my desire not to entangle myself in the snares of—"

"I am _fully_ aware of your spotless nature, Claude Frollo." Irritation laced the king's tone. "You need not continue to remind me."

"But of course, Your Majesty." Claude sat back in his chair, the epitome of submissive obedience.

Numerous witnesses were brought forward; Claude defended himself with a cool "Your Majesty, it baffles the simple minds of these common folk that there could exist a politician without stain; therefore, they invent falsehoods about me so as to—"

"You are _not_ being paid by the word, Claude. I tire of your eloquence." King Louis exhaled noisily.

So far, matters were proceeding acceptably. No solid evidence had been brought against him. Fortunately for Frollo, the Archdeacon was the only witness to both Notre Dame scenarios; it was one man's word against another.

Claude Frollo needed every last shred of willpower to remain calm while Esmerelda was questioned. The prosecution kept prodding her; she flatly denied everything. "He is my employer," she shrugged. "Ask any of the palace guards."

"I believe you when you said that he employed you." The prosecuting attorney leaned closer. "However, we _do_ have records on file for Claude Frollo. He has been known to abuse his position…" Claude choked down a retort under the prosecuting attorney's glare "…though I am _quite_ aware that he has used his knowledge of the court system to wriggle his way out in every single instance." The lawyer looked back to the girl before catching the minister's eyes again. "But I must say, it appears that Minister Frollo has outdone himself this time."

Sancta Maria Mater Dei, Claude Frollo _hated_ lawyers.

"Did Frollo, at any time, use his status to take advantage of you?"

"No." The word was clipped but distinct.

"Mademoiselle Trouillefou, you need not fear retribution for your testimony," the prosecution prodded gently. "If Frollo has been abusing you, King Louis will find a new Minister of Justice. Frollo will not be able to hurt you."

"Frollo hasn't hurt me." She took a deep breath, her green eyes fixed unwaveringly on the lawyer.

Frollo's face remained emotionless, but inside he wilted in relief. He mused, not for the first time, why he was generally believed to be cunning and cruel and horrid. Cunning, yes; cunning enough to know how to convince people that they _wanted_ to cooperate.

As the minister had prayed and begged and pleaded for the past weeks, King Louis decided that his public servant had done nothing to warrant removal from office. After all, Frollo did his job quite well—crime in Paris had plummeted under his iron rule—and a judge of his caliber would not be easily replaced. King Louis had clearly realized that finding a suitable replacement was not worth the effort in this instance.

Of course, King Louis expected that Frollo would do his job and have Esmerelda and Clopin deported, as both were illegal immigrants. Intercession on Esmerelda's behalf would only serve to cast suspicion on the minister's motives, so he made no protest.

Clopin was bound and forcibly carried away by palace guards, but Esmerelda deserved better treatment. Upstairs in the guest room, the minister had a quick conversation with her before she had to leave.

"I heard that I'm being shipped to Germany," Esmerelda deadpanned. "I have no citizenship there either."

"You will be as safe in Germany as you would be anywhere. I happen to have a few contacts." He slipped an engraved ring from his finger. "This is my seal. The captain of the border guards knows me; he will recognize the ring."

"Good. Will he assume that I cut off your finger to steal it?"

"Of course not. The border guards know that anybody who cut off my finger would not live long enough to reach Germany." Claude allowed a smile to spread across his face.

Esmerelda returned the smile, still anxious.

"Take this. Consider it my buy-out of your public performances." The judge handed her a sack of money. "Remember, you will only perform your seductive dancing for _me_."

"You're confident," she replied uncertainly. "You're sure that I will ever be able to dance for you again?"

"Absolutely." He clasped her delicate hand in his own. "You leave me with no choice, my love; I _will_ come back for you, for I cannot live without you. You have my word."

One final good-bye kiss, and Esmerelda Trouillefeau left the room to be escorted by palace guards to Germany…


	7. Chapter 7

Esmeralda: "Happy now?" the girl growled, eyeing the prone, tied, resigned form of her brother. He had been strapped to a horse for the entire exhausting trek to Germany, and looked much worse for wear. The French soldiers had left without bothering to untie his bindings.

He merely sighed. "If you're referring to the Minister of Justice in Paris…yes, I'm happy that he is no longer in the picture." Clopin shot a resentful glance at his sister. "He _used_ you, Esmeralda. You were an unwitting pawn on his master chessboard. And now look what's happened! He used you as bait to catch me, and he used _me_ to bully the rest of the group—" here Clopin inclined his head to indicate the multiple gypsies surrounding them "—into just following me into exile. 'Look, I have your leader. Make it easy for yourselves, go to Germany with him. Please don't force me to hurt you or your leader, because you know I would absolutely _hate_ to do that.' Bah!" Clopin spat out the last word with contempt.

"Clopin, I'm insulted." Hands on her hips, she returned his angry glare. "You just likened me to a pawn. My importance is more on par with a rook, or a knight."

His bound hands unable to facepalm, Clopin resigned to repeatedly beating his forehead against the dirt. "Stop," he groaned. "Now you even sound like Frollo when you talk!"

"Just listen, blockhead!" Esmeralda knelt down closer to his smudged face. "Yes, Frollo ran all of us out of Paris. But get this, _he didn't spill a drop of gypsy blood._ Think about that. Look, it would have happened sooner or later. There is no denying that man anything; he would not have rested until all of us were gone. But he _let us go for free_."

Inspiration suddenly struck, and she continued. "No, he actually did more than let us go for free. He _provided_ for us." Standing, Esmeralda reached under her shirt and pulled out the signet ring on a thin chain. "This is Frollo's signet ring. He told me to show this to any authority figures that tried to give us trouble. They'll recognize the crest. Frollo has travelled all over Europe and he's a very respected man."

"Feared, more like," a voice mumbled in discontent, but most of her clansmen were regarding the ring with great interest.

"Were it not for me, do you think Frollo would have done this?" she continued. "Of course not. He would have squashed us like insects." She gripped the ring, her voice and gaze growing in intensity. "_I advocated for you._ For _us_. During the entire time I spent with him, I never once lost sight of who I was, even after you rejected me." She sank to the ground and roughly took Clopin's face in her hands, forcing him to make eye contact. "And _you_ have no right to tell me what to do with my body. I am an adult."

Clopin winced as if her rebuke had been a physical blow. "Es, I _know_ you're an adult. You've been an adult for two—almost three—years now. I know that I cannot make your decisions for you." He swallowed. "What upset me is that I could plainly see that Frollo was working you like a puppet! You were just letting him get what he wanted with no compunction as to how he was tarnishing you…"

"A man with his face in the dirt ought not be calling other people 'tarnished'," Esmeralda interrupted. This remark prompted a few giggles from the audience. "And you know me too well to think I would allow myself to become a mindless puppet. I _worked with him_. I got him to realize that his perception of us, while not inaccurate, was—_incomplete_, to say the least."

"You did." Clopin's admission was followed by a pause. "But you got yourself so dirty…"

"Listen," Esmeralda interrupted sharply. "You know that I can't be bullied into doing something that I don't want to do. If I was so concerned about my so-called _purity_, I would have fashioned a noose from my clothing and hung myself from the rafters rather than submit to him." She got down on her hands and knees, sticking her face up in her brother's face. "This was not slavery, this was not rape, and you WILL get that into your brain. Understand?"

"I understand." The gypsy squeezed up his face in defeat. "But I fail to see what you found so attractive in him."

"Exactly. You fail. Because you cannot look past the surface," Esmeralda countered. "Claude Frollo is educated, refined, and _brilliant_. He is _quiet_. He is _thoughtful._ Such a welcome contrast to most men who desired my attention." Her voice hardened in anger. "He's a person, not a pig. He can eat with a fork instead of his hands, and not talk with his mouth full, and he takes a bath more than about three times per year, and he combs his hair and cleans his teeth, and he can carry an intelligent conversation, and he has methods of communicating with women besides catcalls and butt-grabbing!" Esmeralda was positively fuming. "Say what you will about him, but I have not found those traits in any other man!" Her eyes narrowed. "Present company included."

"Got it," Clopin grumbled. "Thanks a lot."

"Good." The word was hard and clipped. Esmeralda returned to her feet.

"I won't bring it up again." Clopin spoke a little more loudly. "It's a moot point anyway. We live in Germany and he lives in Paris. Frollo is no longer in the picture. Let's both agree to forget about the entire thing."

"Deal," Esmeralda agreed. "Let's stop arguing and start setting up camp."

Clopin was untied, wagons were unloaded, makeshift beds assembled. Once within the privacy of her own covered wagon, Esmeralda finally had an opportunity to examine the cloth rags she'd stuffed into her knickers for the past several days. Doubtless they would be liberally soaked and dripping blood by this point; she hadn't been able to check herself all day.

To her surprise, the rags were clean. Esmeralda shook her head and shrugged. The bleeding should have started over a week ago. She knew that her body had phases as regular and reliable as the cycle of the moon; unlike the moon, she seemed to have recently fallen out of rhythm.

Perhaps the clouds had decided to choke the sky this month, shrouding the moon in a heavy veil of darkness. Readjusting her clothing, Esmeralda resolved to pay it no mind. She certainly would not miss the inconvenience of washing the blood from her rags; with their recent relocation, she had far more important matters to worry about than a late menstrual cycle.


	8. Chapter 8

F: The minister was lonely.  
But for the first time in sixty-two years, he felt that his life had a definite purpose. He compensated for his loneliness by spending more time with Quasi, to both of their benefit. The boy even went with him to the next peasant festival.  
And it hadn't been as bad as Frollo had feared. The minister had never liked the festival-as part of the law enforcement, it was more or less his job to babysit a large, rowdy, noisy crowd of drunks who couldn't even wear clothing that matched-but lucky Quasi was free of such responsibilities. The boy ran around hugging people, eating food, and helping to round up the dozens of dogs, goats, and chickens that kept getting loose.

Also, to the archdeacon's great annoyance (and therefore to Claude Frollo's great delight) a goat now lived in the belltower of Notre Dame. Esmerelda had let Quasimodo keep Djali when she was deported, and the boy was overjoyed. The minister thought it a wise idea as well—it was high time that the boy socialized with something besides stone statues.  
Explaining the situation to the archdeacon had been incredibly satisfying. Hadn't the archdeacon often chided Frollo for not taking care of the boy? Now Frollo had found a pet for Quasi, and see how happy Quasi was! Surely you see how excellent this is, Archdeacon.

Even now, Frollo grinned and rubbed his hands together at the mere thought of his victory.  
Esmerelda's absence laid heavy on his heart. The scratches on his ribs and spine—parting gifts from her nails—eventually faded, but memory did not. Frollo decided that he would retire when his term ended; he would go to Germany and find Esmerelda, and get married properly, and find somewhere to settle down. Probably a little town, where Quasimodo could get out and explore and meet people.

He wouldn't feel obligated to live in a castle with guards, now that he no longer lived in a city where half of the denizens wanted him dead. Without his stressful responsibilities, he could spend more quality time with Quasi, be a better father.

****************

E: Germany _was_ safe...for a grand total of five months. Then, a white man and a gypsy got into a brawl and the white man ended up dying. It was enough to turn the city against them, and more than enough to override any protection that the signet ring would have given them. The gypsies were forced to move yet again.

However, this sudden loss of fortune was hardly at the forefront of Esmeralda's thoughts. As the weeks went by, she noticed subtle changes in her body; slight enough that at first she could ignore it, but slowly accumulating to form an ominous black shadow that sank over her thoughts like a pall, suffocating her, terrifying her.  
At first it had been little things that were easy to find an explanation for. First came the fatigue and headaches; nothing out of the ordinary here, she had just been through a physically and emotionally exhausting relocation.  
Then came the vomiting. Likely it was merely a case of food poisoning; hunger will motivate a person to eat food without feeling the need to consider its level of sanitation. The thought of food reminded her of Claude and all the good things she had to eat then—_stop it, idiot, you mustn't think about him anymore. He's ancient history at this point. _

The sickness soon eased, to be replaced by a powerful need for—sausage, of all things. The German butchers had plenty of it, and Esmeralda happily devoted some of the money Claude left her to fulfilling her newfound passion. She cooked so much sausage that the lingering scent absorbed into the fabrics of the wagons. Clopin made a snarky comment on this, and Esmeralda gave him an equally snarky reply that she was merely trying to disguise his disgusting body odor.  
When she first noticed her clothing fitting more tightly, she blamed the sausages. But surely sausage was not to blame for the fact that her menstrual cycle was months overdue, or that she was constantly needing to use the latrine, or that she felt the need to rest more than usual…

It almost brought Esmeralda relief to eventually acknowledge that, yes, she was actually pregnant. Her initial reaction was a smug realization that Clopin had NOT succeeded in disgustedly kicking her romantic life under a rug. She _would_ keep the baby, and enjoy the look of defeat on Clopin's face every time he saw his little niece or nephew. Esmeralda loved her brother, but she had no reservations about putting him in his place when the situation called for it. The humiliation would serve him right for trying to control her life! Already, she could feel the tiny fluttering of life inside of her when she laid down to sleep at night. The gypsy could imagine her little baby dancing inside the soft cocoon of its mother's body; the picture brought a smile to her face.

But no amount of prenatal dancing could erase her people's macabre image of the minister. No child of Claude Frollo would be welcome within a hundred miles of their residence! Perhaps Clopin would never wish to see his niece or nephew at all, and would take serious measures to ensure that he was never required to. Esmerelda had attempted to conceal her pregnancy with loose clothing and layers, which had worked well enough over the winter, but as her pregnancy continued to progress and as the weather got warmer…it was a lost cause. The baby would be killed, no doubt, and very likely the mother with it. At best, Esmerelda would be banished yet again, this time with no Palace of Justice in which to hide.  
Her only hope was the possibility of running back to Paris to beg the minister for help. She had no assurance that his response would be favorable; accepting that the child was his would undo his valiant efforts to sponge clean his smeared reputation. Much easier it would be to have her thrown out again, deny that he had anything to do with her, maybe even have her punished for daring to slander the honorable Minister of Justice by suggesting that he'd fathered an illegitimate colored child.

Perhaps he would not even believe her; what proof had she, besides her word, that the child was genuinely his? If he suspected that she had played him false…  
Sobs wracked her poor body at the very thought. The Minister of Justice would wring her neck in a heartbeat at any demonstration of infidelity; his protective jealousy for her would turn into violent wrath at her refusal to remain behind his shield.

Running out of options, Esmerelda gave it her best effort and explained her plans to Clopin, omitting the pregnancy. "We can move back to Paris," she said. "I will kill the judge this time, and we will be safe. Believe me, I have learned my lesson." If she killed him, she would become a hero; even her pregnancy would most likely be forgiven.  
"You'd better have learned," he sighed. "I wish I could say that I trust you to keep your word, but…"  
"No, I understand," Esmerelda replied. "I'll swear an oath in front of the entire clan that the day I return to him will be his last day on earth."

****Author's Note: Thanks to everyone still reading this story, special thanks to stargate5789 and Mumingmir. It feels awesome to know that I'm not invisible 3 **

**To anyone: This is my first fanfic and I'm still developing my writing style, feel free to leave feedback! :D**


	9. Chapter 9

E: Her conscience tore her into a million tiny pieces. Were it only _her_ life on the line, she would have dug in her heels and preferred to die in her dignity. But could she, with a clear conscience, sacrifice her child's life as easily as her own?  
If she betrayed the minister, she would be a hero to her people, and she and her child would have a home.

So she had sacrificed the minister's life for their baby's safety.

Perhaps this too was not a morally acceptable choice—but what options did she have? Tears ran down her face as they walked. Esmerelda had never intended to get caught up in this mess. Her life's work was that of an entertainer, and poking fun at authority figures was a good way to earn the admiration of the common folk. As stiff and cold as Frollo was, poking fun at him was all the better. Plus, he really needed to be put in his place. Frollo's ego was too big to fit inside the cathedral of Notre Dame.

One fateful evening as she was poking fun at him at the Boar's Head, he got clever and invited her to give a private performance at the Palace of Justice. Immediately Esmerelda realized her mistake, but it was too late. The sanest option was to have not kept the appointment and to have ceased to publicly mock him; of course, that was exactly what he wanted, her to bow in frightened obedience.  
So she went to the palace of justice—alone, because she knew that Clopin would stop her if he knew of her intent. And it was there, locked away in the chapel, that she unexpectedly was able to see a completely different side of the Minister of Justice, one that he never showed to the public.

Everything was perfect, until she woke up beside him the next morning and started to rethink her actions. But by then, it was too late.  
And now, her own hand had been forced to turn against the man she loved.  
Clopin led them outside the palace and into the streets. His face brightened at once as he surveyed his ecstatic subjects. "Today will be the most exciting day of your lives!" he shouted. "Today, justice is going to be served! So, tell me, how do we want him served—boiled or fried?"

The crowd howled with laughter. Frollo gave no indication that he heard, or cared.  
"Roasted, toasted, and fried!" a voice shouted back at them. More laughter from the crowd as Clopin nodded eagerly, turning away from his captive. "Burn him! Burn him alive!"  
"He won't even know when he's dead!" another voice echoed. "He'll go right from one fire into the next one!"  
Clopin suddenly doubled over, blood blossoming on his loud clothing. The minister had shed his handcuffs and was reaching for the gypsy, most likely trying to retrieve his dagger, when one of the gypsies struck him with a pole. Frollo spun around, grabbed the pole, forced the wielder to topple into one of his kinsmen.

Esmeralda could predict how this would finish. The minister may have been skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but he was sorely outnumbered and he'd lost his dagger. Some of the wiser gypsies dragged Clopin away from the brawl and into a wagon to have his wound tended.  
It was time to take charge of the situation. Esmeralda shouldered her way into the thick of the fight. "LET HIM GO!" she demanded.

Eyes stared at her in shock. "I said, let him go," she repeated. "I am Clopin's younger sister, and therefore I am your leader whenever Clopin is incapacitated. You will let Frollo go."  
"What? Why?" The scowls deepened on their faces.  
Esmeralda's own face tightened. "Many a time I have heard you curse at him, wish he would give our people a chance instead of laying down the law left and right. Are you going to treat him the exact same way? Execute him without a trial? Look, this is our chance to prove to him that we are not savages. We want to work with him. If he is as righteous as he claims, he will devote himself immediately to getting all of us citizenship as soon as we release him."

"She speaks the truth." Surprised eyes turned at the minister's calm voice. "I am the defender of the law and your legal protector. Killing me would be a grave mistake, I must warn you. I make no guarantees that my successor will be as capable as I."

_Way to go, Claude. Only you would flatter yourself while trying to talk your way out of an execution. _

The citizens of Paris, having noticed the commotion, were beginning to gather around. Gypsies' eyes looked from the princess, to the judge, to each other.  
"He's tricked you." A gypsy spoke up from the crowd.  
With the silence broken, others voiced their agreement. "You aren't thinking clearly, Esmerelda." "Clopin would not accept this, and neither will we." "You're a traitor; he's turned you!"

The initial spokesman raised his voice again. "Don't listen to her! She's got more bats in her brain than would fit in the belltower of Notre Dame!" The crowd whooped in agreement. The gypsy, a heavy-set man, stepped forward to stare down the minister.  
Claude maintained his calm demeanor, refusing to move a muscle.  
Realizing that he was not winning, the big gypsy cleared his throat and tried a different approach. "Your time is up, O Mighty One. Any last requests, Your Humiliatedness?" The crowd snickered at the leering man's choice of words to address the Minister of Justice.

*******

F: When Esmerelda stepped up to defend him, the minister immediately forgave her betrayal. It was obvious that she had been coerced, and was now doing her best to undo the damage she had been forced to perform. He even kept his cool when Esmeralda began to indirectly order him around: "If he is as righteous as he claims, he will devote himself immediately to getting all of us citizenship as soon as we release him."

_That was uncalled for, but I am a prudent man and will wait until later to correct her. _

Unfortunately, Esmerelda's clan did not share her common sense. That big oaf who had been the first to speak up now came forward and tried to stare down the minister. This was a grave mistake on that poor fool's part. Frollo kept his cool under the leering stare; the oaf's plan backfired on him, and he tried a different approach before he embarrassed himself by cowering.  
"Your time is up, O Mighty One. Any last requests, Your Humiliatedness?"

_Your Humiliatedness?_ Seriously? Only an extreme idiot would butcher a word so hideously in attempt to make fun of the judge's title.  
Calmly, the Minister of Justice slipped a ring from one of his fingers and knelt in front of Esmerelda. "My last request," he said calmly, "is your hand in marriage."


	10. Chapter 10

E: Had Clopin been watching, he would have been properly disgusted and horrified and instantly destroyed any amorous displays. However, he was too busy having his stab wound treated.  
"Yes," Esmerelda said, holding out her hand for the ring. Tingles shot up her arm as their fingers brushed; she dropped to her knees next to him. Flinging her left arm around his shoulders and planting her right hand just below the crown of his head, she kissed him. Long and slow, heated and passionate. She couldn't have cared less about bemusement, disgust, and utter bewilderment splattered across the many faces of her audience.  
The girl squirmed instinctively as his fingers stroked her. It turned him on even more. His hands tightened on her as he moaned against her lips.  
When he finally pulled away she gasped like a beached fish, her body having suddenly realized that she had forgotten to breathe.

"Well, well, well. The disillusioned wealthy middle-aged white man and the illegal alien little brown woman with more attitude than sense who takes off her clothes for money," the heavy man drawled, walking circles around them both. "Such a perfect match."  
"Shame to lynch him without first making it official," a voice spoke up from the crowd. Esmeralda turned to look, noticing that the mob was filled with faces both white and brown. She could not identify the speaker. The crowd roared in unison, hands shooting into the air. Within a few minutes, one man emerged from the crushing mob with somebody else's garish orange pillow and two rings that had been involuntarily "donated" for the occasion.

"Amazing," Es deadpanned. "It looks like I'm getting to marry you after all. But only because the mob wants to have some fun with us before they kill us."  
"What I find to be even more astonishing," Claude added in his usual aloof tone, "is that half of Paris is excited to attend my wedding, despite the fact I am offering them no public festivities afterward."  
"Face it, you wouldn't have thrown a party even if you had the option," Es commented.

The untouched tranquility of the minister's face seemed much more suited to a man kneeling in Notre Dame than to a man being publicly mocked. He was handling the situation much better than she; his tormentors could elicit no response from him. Esmerelda focused on the minister's placid face, struggling to suppress the anger that the crowd's jeers and catcalls aroused in her.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, we come together today to celebrate the union of the King and Queen of Fools!" the heavy-set man bellowed out. The mob roared, people shouting and clapping and climbing on top of each other to get a better view. Roofs shuddered dangerously under the weight of people that they were not designed to support, as half of Paris attempted to pack itself into a giant, colorful blob.

"Are you going to tell them they've crowned the wrong fool?" Frollo asked lightly.  
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!" Esmeralda howled. "We're about to be killed, and you're thinking up witty remarks!"  
"Es, look at me," he responded gently. She complied. "Through no decision of mine, my time on this earth seems to be drawing to a close. But it is my decision how I chose to spend these last minutes."  
In some bizarre fashion, his logic made sense to Esmeralda. When you're down to your last minutes, you might as well have some fun with the little time you have left.

"If anyone has any objections that these two should be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."  
"I OBJECT!" Clopin was clearly shouting, but the fabric of the wagon muffled his voice.  
"Oh, shush," the caped man dismissed him. "You need your rest. Somebody pull that wagon farther away; all of this excitement seems to be a bit much for our dear wounded leader."

The crowd made sure that Clopin was well away before the cape guy started rattling off the vows. He cleared his throat before beginning. "Claude, do you take—"  
"We are not on a first-name basis," the minister interrupted calmly.  
"Attaboy! Ya still wanna be treated like nobility!" a voice shouted from the crowd; Esmerelda could not tell if it was mockery or admiration.  
Slightly perturbed, cape guy began again. "Monsieur Frollo, do you take Esmerelda Trolliefou to be your lawful wedded wife from this day forward, for better cause your situation couldn't be much worse, she's poor but your riches won't do you any good anymore…" He was laughing so hard that he had to stop for a few moments. Claude did not move a muscle.  
"Okay. Okaaaaaaaay. Back to the vows." Cape guy took a deep breath. "In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till imminent death do you part?"  
"I do." His hand gently squeezed hers; his eyes had not once left her face. A sob welled up in her throat at the realization of how much he loved her and how much they were both about to lose.  
"And you, Esmerelda—cause you are on a first name basis," cape guy couldn't resist snickering. "Do you take Monster Frollo to be your excessively controlling husband from this day forward, you better be glad you're about to die for you couldn't have possibly chosen worse…" The crowd laughed along with him.  
"You'll sadly get no richer," he gasped out, his sides heaving with mirth.  
"In sickness and in health," the cape guy paused, "girl, I'm doing you both a favor by killing you. Do you want to spend the prime of your life waiting on some ancient invalid?"

The pointy-toed boot caught cape guy completely by surprise. He doubled over, clutching his groin, and retched in the floor.  
"I assure you, Esmerelda does not wish to wait on some invalid." Claude's voice, though level, carried a distinct tinge of amusement. "Therefore, I advise you to clean up your own vomit and kindly remove yourself from her presence."

The crowd applauded and laughed—but they were laughing with Frollo rather than at him. A politician to the last, Frollo kept his knack for working a crowd.  
But the gypsy girl lacked the minister's patience. "I'm tired of being made fun of," she huffed. "We can do this without him." She'd witnessed enough weddings to know the words. "I, Esmerelda, take you, Claude, to be my husband." She said his Christian name a little more loudly than the remainder of the phrase, but he did an excellent job pretending not to notice.  
E smiled. _She_ could address the Minister of Justice by his first name.  
"To have and to hold, from this day forward; for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part!" Her voice broke, hands shaking as they slipped a ring up his finger. The shaking spread through her entire body; her knees were knocking together; she dropped them to the floor in defeat. Eyes shut tight, she felt the minister's left hand close over her fingers, his right soothingly stroking her knuckles. The shaking subsided and she stood.

"I, Minister of Justice Claude Frollo, the high authority of Paris, the dutiful servant to my dread lord King Louis who may God preserve, the strong arm of the Law, the greatest fear of evildoers…"  
"Are you delivering an oration, or getting married?" Esmerelda interrupted curtly.  
"…take you, Esmerelda, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward; for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part." He pressed the wedding band against the jewel of his own that he'd spontaneously chosen for her engagement ring. "I love you." Bending down, taking her chin in his hand, he gently kissed her.

When his face lifted from hers, Es impulsively grabbed both sides of his head. "Don't leave," she gasped thickly, before crushing her lips against his. Her tongue passionately sought out the contours of his mouth, stroking across his sensitive gumline before flicking against the insides of his sharp cheekbones. If this was to be their final kiss on this side of the grave, by God she would make it count.  
Eyes shut tightly, mind completely snared in this web of passion, she was only vaguely conscious of rough hands tearing her from the minister's arms. Not even bothering to struggle as ropes wrapped around her, she blinked her eyes open to see her husband being held prisoner in front of her.

"Congratulations on your new status, Madame Frollo," a voice snickered in her ear. "And it would be a shame to end the festivities so soon. It wouldn't be a party…without…a bonfire."


	11. Chapter 11

F: The Minister of Justice had devoted _countless_ hours to prayer that he might become more like Jesus Christ, but being dragged to his death by a crowd of jeering heathens was not exactly what he had had in mind. Perhaps one should be careful what one wished for.

True to the Biblical narrative, he'd even had his clothing taken. Some greedy harpy had pointed out that those robes were worth more than the average gypsy could steal in a year. Nobody cared about the minister, but shame to let that clothing be damaged.

One of the goons who was stripping him had even mocked him about it. "Guess what, your clothing is worth more than _you_ are. One-percenter problems, eh?"

Even now as he laid on the rocking wagon, stripped to his trousers and bound with ropes, he tried to glance over his shoulder, half expecting to see some gypsies throwing dice for his clothing.

It was hardly the dignified journey from this world to the next that he had always expected the Lord would grace him with. Yet, he swallowed his pride and submitted to his fate with his shoulders bowed in obedience. Claude would quite soon be sitting in the defendant's seat (ugh, not _again_) in the Heavenly courts; it was imperative that he be on his best behavior.

Esmerelda was also bound, though she was at least dressed. The minister appreciated this. Esmerelda looked _wonderful_ without clothing, a sight much too beautiful for the simple common folk.

She wiggled as close to him as she could. "I'm so sorry," she choked. "I tried to save you, to save _us_. It's my fault. I brought them here." Her body shook with sobs.

Twisting against his bindings, he managed to press his lips to her forehead. "I forgive you everything. I ask that you forgive me, too. This is my fault as much as it is yours."

Claude could not remember when (or if) he had ever apologized to anyone for anything, but realizing that one is minutes from death can do strange things to a person's behavior. He intended to make full use of his last moments on earth to make a better impression on God. And after all, this bitter end facing him and Esmerelda _was_ sort of his fault. The initial intimacy had been his idea entirely, even if she had ultimately cooperated.

And as a result of _his_ foolish decision, the minister found himself adding crimes to the huge pile of crimes he was committing in order to cover for them both.

"I forgive you," Es murmured. "And I don't regret a thing," she added, voice hardening. "Better to die doing my own thing than to exist without freedom!"

The crowd snickered, and bile rose in his throat. "I was quite overjoyed to find that you were different, my dear, but I fear that a great number of your kinfolk are savages nonetheless. Only a heathen would execute a prisoner without allowing him the Last Rites!"

"_Seriously_?" Esmerelda grunted. "You think that's going to determine whether or not you get to pass those pearly gates?"

The minister bit back a cutting remark, reminding himself that it was not Esmerelda's fault that no one had ever catechized her. "The Last Sacraments are extremely important, my dear. Allow me to explain…"

"Well, they aren't in your Bible _anywhere_," Esmerelda interrupted. "I read it that day when I was hiding in your bedroom while you were working."

"You read my Bible?" he asked in pleasant surprise.

"Yeah. I was bored."

And just when the Minister had thought he had inspired some genuine religious fervor in this poor heathen girl. Matters were not looking too pleasant for the Minister's eternal soul.

"And your Bible says that you get to Heaven by publicly professing your faith in Jesus! It's not because of what _you_ did or didn't do that you get to go to Heaven. It's because of what _Jesus_ did that you get to go to Heaven!" Esmerelda explained triumphantly.

Did it actually say that? To be completely honest, Claude wasn't entirely sure. He'd spent _hours_ scouring the scriptures searching for any passage that said something to the effect of "Authority figures are representatives of God on this earth" or "Render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar" (he used this one very frequently, especially his method of gathering wealth by fining people was called into question) or "Shut up and stop whining". Being a master politician, he'd learned long ago that Bible verses could be very useful for justifying egregious bad behavior and enabling him to still look like a good person, regardless of whatever gross insult he had committed against humanity.

And, like all master politicians, Claude had a very selective memory. He was very good at ignoring verses like "Blessed are the meek" and "You are saved by faith and not by works (or by buying indulgences, for that matter…_ohhhhhhh_, he'd taken advantage of Catholic corruption and milked that system for all it was worth!)".

He laid limp on the cart as it rattled up the hill to the old windmill. The crowd had reached the decrepit structure, and circled round like hungry vultures, flaming torches in hand.

E: The baby jumped with every jolting of the cart. Es bit her lip and closed her eyes. She longed to reach out her hands to wrap over her midriff, as if to reassure the baby with her touch. But her wrists were bound behind her back.

Wriggling against her bindings, she managed to pull herself closer to the minister. "I'm so sorry," she choked, tears trickling down her face. This was not how things were supposed to have gone. She was tired, depressed, and _angry._ Angry at her kinfolk, angry at herself, angry at the universe for being so cruel to her. Was it so wrong to want to be loved, to want to love in return?

Claude managed to pull close enough against her to kiss her forehead, before sighing out his own apology. Her heart tore in two at seeing her husband in such a pitiful state. Why did the universe hate the both of them so?

She gritted her teeth, tuning out the jeers of the crowd, until someone leaned in to address her directly. "I can't believe how shallow you are, Esmeralda. This man has hunted us like a dog hunting rabbits, and you can't seem to see beyond how good he looks with no clothes on."

"He _does_ look good with no clothes on. I'm so impressed that you noticed." Es tilted her head to look the bully directly in the eye. "What were you expecting, saggy skin?"

The bully's face curled up in a sneer. "Unlike you, I don't care _how_ his physique looks. He's horrible."

Es had pulled herself into a sitting position, but was flung roughly onto her back when cart stopped in front of the windmill. Rough hands grabbed her and Claude, flinging them to the floor inside. "Have fun, you two," their tormentors snickered. The door slammed, and then Esmerelda could hear the door being barred from the outside.

"Still waiting for a legion of angels to come rescue your self-righteous ass?" she grouched in the general direction of the wall.

"Not a legion," he replied with a surprising calmness. "I only need one angel." Pause. "Assuming that she will make herself useful instead of making smart remarks."

Es jumped in surprise, but he continued seamlessly. "Someone pulled a pane from the window to smash it on me. And although I can't reach it, I can feel a very useable makeshift glass knife in my shoulder."

The girl rolled over and over until she reached her husband's prone body, sprayed in shattered glass. Inching like a caterpillar, she managed to get a shard into her mouth, between her gypsy could hear the flames crackling at the door and felt the temperature beginning to rise as she sawed at the ropes. She sawed harder, nicking his skin in her haste. Blood dribbled down the broken pottery and against her lips.

She sweated profusely, either from heat or exertion or fear or a combination of the three. As last, the rope snapped. Yanking the glass out of his shoulder, Frollo took the makeshift knife to her own bindings, and soon had her loose. But the fire spread rapidly; already the house was in flames.

"The windmill tower," she gasped. "It's stone. It won't burn. We've got to climb."

The stairs shook frighteningly beneath their weight, crumbling almost too quickly for them to reach the second story. Flames snarled beneath them, eating at the structure below. She grasped at the stone, but its slickness offered no handhold. Flames licked the edge of her skirt; she tore her clothing before the fire could continue to climb.

"If we get to the roof, we can grab the mill blades," Frollo choked out through the suffocating heat. "That will carry us to the top of the tower."

Esmeralda grabbed a wooden beam, splinters driving into her hand as she attempted to climb. She heard a cracking and felt the beam shake beneath her weight, before suddenly giving way and crumbling beneath her. A blast of heat forced a scream back down her throat, choking her. Heat seared every inch of her, eyes stung and watered, head pounded from the heat and oxygen deprivation. Even in the glaring blaze of the fire, she felt her world going dark. She felt herself suspended in the air, a strong pair of hands grabbing her clothing. _Claude_?

The yawning blackness swallowed her…


	12. Chapter 12

F: He was flat on his back, numerous burns on his shoulders screaming in pain as his body weight pressed his raw flesh into the crude cloth that separated it from the floor. Lips parted to speak, but he could produce nothing more than a rattling cough.

The sound, pitiful though it may have been, was enough to bring footsteps scurrying to the minister's side. "Master? Master, are you awake?"

Claude swallowed, attempted to produce a little saliva to wet his mouth to speak. The result was a groan like the hinges of a gate that had rusted shut long ago.

"Master, don't try to talk. Here, drink this." Claude felt the thick, heavy fingers gripping his hair to raise his head as the rim of a jar pressed to his lips.

_Water._ It trickled across his heat-seared lips into his parched mouth. He leaned in, swallowing that blessed moisture in huge gulps, choking himself in his haste yet refusing to pull out.

"Honey, you're spilling more than you're swallowing." Claude forced his eyes open for the first time, to see his wife turn away to place the water jug well out of his reach.

"Water," he croaked. "Please," he added.

Esmeralda giggled. "You're cute when you say 'please'. You should try that more often." Reaching for the jug again, she added, "Slow down this time."

He obeyed, forcing himself to swallow no more than once every three seconds. Slowly, his head began to clear. The most recent memory he could recall was that of Esmeralda crumpling against the windmill tower, unconscious. She had passed out from the heat and smoke. He had reached for her, tried to pull her away from the crumbling structure that threatened to swallow her whole. Wood disintegrated under his feet as he tried to run, Esmeralda completely unconscious and as ungainly as a sack of potatoes.

He had dug his nails against the stone, trying to climb, but his own sweating palms betrayed him and Esmeralda's weight dragged him down. The world swam in a dizzying haze of yellow and red as he squinted his eyes against the searing heat. He had been certain that they wouldn't make it out.

Before everything went black, he could have sworn that he felt Esmeralda's weight lifted from his shoulders, and feared in a moment of panic that he had dropped her to her death…

Yet here they both were. Except he didn't even know where "here" was.

"What happened?" he groaned.

"I rescued you both," Quasi explained. "Djali was going crazy. Animals have a good sixth sense, I thought Miss E was in danger. I left the belltower and ran all of the way to the Palace of Justice, to get Snowball. Snowball took me to the windmill of his own accord."

"Snowball found me?" Claude repeated.

"Yes, I just got on his back and let him lead the way. He's smart, like Djali. He knew you were in trouble."

"Perhaps Caligula was not so insane for making his horse a senator," Claude mused out loud.

"I pulled you both out of the fire," Quasi continued. "Snowball took us back to Notre Dame, and I claimed sanctuary. The crowd didn't try to stop me, they were too stunned. Even I can't believe that it worked. Both of you were unconscious and almost fell off of the horse multiple times, I don't know how I held you both, it must have been Divine intervention…" He trailed off. "I've been watching over both of you until you woke up."

"He saved both of our lives." Es embraced the boy. "Thank you, Quasi."

"Thank you," the minister added, laying his scorched hand on the boy's arm.

"Nobody will try to harm you now," Quasi continued, "not after the Hand of God reached down and rescued you both. You must have been innocent, to have survived!"

Claude knew better. "No. I have fallen. I believe that I was spared because…" his cracked voice failed, but he swallowed and continued "…because I have a duty to perform." He swallowed. "I need to get to the Palace of Justice, _now_. Es, Quasi, can you carry me outside and get me on my horse?"

"But why? You're hurt and you need to rest!" Quasi protested.

"I have to start the paperwork. _Now_. I need to get our marriage license filed and start the process of her citizenship." He swallowed. "Es is back in Paris against the law, and King Louis will quickly find out…word travels…especially after everything that happened today…I need to protect her."

The girl's eyes widened as she squeezed his hand. "Claude…" she choked. "I tried to kill you…I deserve to be left to the wolves."

"No." His voice hardened. "No, you don't. I was the one who got both of us into this mess in the first place. God has shown me my duty. I have to make this right." He swallowed again to moisten his dry throat. "Can you carry me?"

He winced when they touched his burned skin, but he made no sound. Claude felt himself lifted from the floor, being moved towards the doorway.

Until a figure appeared in the doorway, blocking their path. Quasi's eyes widened in relief. "Doctor de Vries! Oh, they brought you here!"

"Put him back on the floor," de Vries ordered. He turned to Es directly. "Pregnant women should not be carrying heavy things."

There was a collective gasp as Es and Quasi lowered the minister much too quickly in their surprise.

"Esmeralda? Do we need to have a talk?" the minister asked.

Dr. de Vries waved their surprise away with a hand. "I've been in the practice for years. I know what pregnancy looks like. And I also know that this man has been too badly burned to be headed anywhere."

"They took his clothes," Es added. "He had no protection from the flames, and there's a gash in his shoulder…"

"He needs attention," de Vries stated with authority. "Quasimodo, you can help me carry him over to a side room where I can work undisturbed."

"No." Claude strained against the hands of both men. "The paperwork…Esmeralda…I'm going to be a father…I have to…" To his annoyance, his voice was fading again. His limbs grew weak and shook as he struggled to pull himself free.

"You aren't yet strong enough for that, as you have just demonstrated," de Vries scolded. Resignedly, Claude went limp and allowed himself to be carried away.

"Doctor, is he going to be ok?" Quasimodo asked worriedly as they placed the minister back on the floor. "If he needs blood, I'd be happy to—"

De Vries waved him away. "I will call you if I have need for you. Go stay with Esmeralda and let me work." Quasimodo gave his master one final, worried look before slipping out of the room and quietly closing the door behind him.

Claude exhaled, staring at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. Concentrating fiercely, he sucked in another breath, trying to block out the pain of de Vries touching his burns.

"You have a strong stomach for pain," de Vries commented as he pulled the bandages tight. "Most patients would be screaming right now."

"I am accustomed to pain," Claude muttered through gritted teeth. "My life has contained a great deal of it." He sucked in another sharp breath as de Vries wound the bandages tightly around both of his legs. Claude glanced down, his own appearance reminding him of some Egyptian mummy.

But this was not the only thing he noticed. "Are you wrapping my legs together?" he asked in a half-accusatory tone.

"To make it easier for us to carry you," de Vries explained easily. "After all, you are in no shape to walk."

"I am no invalid," the minister growled through gritted teeth.

"Continue to ignore my advice and injure yourself, and you will be," de Vries scolded, tying off the now-empty roll of bandages before grabbing a new one. Claude scowled darkly at his growing layers of wrappings. Though he could not put a finger on it, something did not feel quite right.

True to his usual nature, Claude took a mental step back to analyze his thoughts. "De Vries," he muttered to himself. "I've heard that name somewhere before…"

"You remember me?" de Vries asked in slight surprise, now bandaging his arms to his torso.

So de Vries clearly remembered _him_. It gave the minister pause; where would they have encountered each other before? He had never been a patient of de Vries before today, which left only one logical option…

"The courtroom," he declared with finality. "It was a—" Claude broke off, stomach sinking. The words _malpractice lawsuit_ died on his lips.

"You _do_ remember." De Vries' face brightened. "I had expected that you'd have extorted so many people by now that you would have forgotten me, and I'd need to explain everything to you."

Claude did not need anything explained to him; he remembered everything clearly now. So many years ago, back when he had been recently been raised to the position of Minister of Justice, he had been scavenging wealth to invest to grow his net worth. With his eyes ever searching for opportunity, he'd pounced upon the unfortunate predicament of de Vries, a young doctor charged with malpractice in the death of a patient. Claude had pronounced him guilty of everything and given him two choices of punishment: having both of his hands cut off, or paying a carefully-calculated sum punitive damages that would require the liquidation of every asset the man had to his name.

Claude froze for less than a second in sheer terror. Before he could draw breath to scream for help, de Vries clamped both hands over his nose and mouth. The doctor knelt on his chest, weight preventing the minister's ribcage from expanding to inhale. Struggling was futile; he had been wrapped in a virtual straightjacket of bandages.

"Justice has caught up with you, Your Honor," de Vries whispered, grinning triumphantly. Claude's head pounded from oxygen deprivation; the doctor's face grew fuzzy and his voice sounded so faint. "And the best part of all this…no one…will be there…" the world was rapidly going black, leaving nothing but the faint whispery voice, "…_no one_…will be there…to condemn me."


	13. Chapter 13

Esmeralda: Her nose burned, her eyes watered, and the roaring inferno pounded in her ears. The baby kicked and squirmed, sensing its mother's anxiety. Guilt tore through her heart; she was not herself afraid of dying, but now if she died her child would too. A child that had done nothing wrong except to be the product of a scandalous affair between a corrupt politician and an illegal foreigner who had been brave (or stupid) enough to hide in his house.

And then the next thing she remembered, she was laying on her back and something cold was pressed against her lips.

Water. Water was trickling into her parched mouth. It was the sweetest sensation in the world. She opened her green eyes to see Quasimodo's anxious face quickly fade to an expression of relief.

"You're alive," Quasimodo gasped.

The baby was alive, too. She could feel the kicking.

Quasimodo continued to pour water slowly into her mouth, and filled her in in the details of how he had rescued her and her husband. They were interrupted when Claude regained consciousness and started groaning. Already recovering, she had willingly crawled over to his side to help Quasimodo give him water.

Doctor de Vries was insistent on being left alone while tending to the minister's injuries, but Es was willing to give him space. Claude needed medical attention much more severely than she did. So, she and Quasimodo sat outside and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Quasimodo knocked on the door, expressing his concern for Esmeralda, but was met with sharp directions to leave the doctor alone. When Quasi demanded again, de Vries told him to go find another doctor because he was going to be busy for a long time. Unwilling to leave the injured people unsupervised, Quasimodo asked a curious loiterer outside the cathedral to make himself useful and go find another physician.

And they waited.

Es _hated_ waiting. She stomped over to the door and knocked. "Is everything ok in there?"

"Leave me alone so I can work!" de Vries shouted.

"Claude. CLAUDE. What is going on in there?" she shouted back.

"He's sleeping!" the doctor snapped.

The girl's inner alarm was going crazy. She knocked louder. "Seriously, haven't I woken him up yet? Claude, say something! I'm scared!" She reached for the doorknob, but it was locked.

Quasimodo broke the door down and they were greeted by the sickening sight of a lifeless mummy and a very terrified de Vries.

And Quasimodo grabbed the doctor and threw him out the cathedral doors down the stairs. And he hit his head on the stone stairs and cracked his skull. And died.

*****A/N*** This is the official last chapter of DwtD. I'm so pumped that I got something finished! Thanks to everyone who stayed with me through this really long story. Don't worry, I'm not done with Frollo. He's coming back as a ghost in the sequel. :D Because Esmeralda still needs to get citizenship, Clopin needs to get over being mad, Frollo's estate needs to get settled, and I can't wait to see the baby. **


End file.
